Return of Titanosaurus
by JJ Rust
Summary: The aliens from "Terror of Mechagodzilla" return and take advantage of a conflict in South America to unleash Titanosaurus on the world.  Can Godzilla and the security company Shield International save mankind from annihilation?
1. Chapter 1

_Am I crazy for looking forward to this?_

John Ruffin told himself he should know better. He'd seen plenty of combat during his time with the US Marine Corps, and with his current employer, Shield International. Having bullets and grenades and rockets going off around you, watching friends and fellow warriors being wounded and killed, was not something anyone should crave. But he wanted this particular fight. Three times in the past two months the Venezuelan military had raided the small island nation of Trinidad and Tobago. Their troops ransacked homes, businesses, schools and tourist sites. They caused millions in property damage. Forty Trinidadians had lost their lives, including over a dozen members of the nation's defense force. Venezuela's new leader, General Moscoso, said the raids were in response to Trinidad drilling for oil in their territorial waters. Everyone knew that to be a bogus claim. Ruffin had a simpler answer for the raids.

General Moscoso was a bully. He had the bigger military and felt he could do whatever he wanted to this small nation just off the Venezuelan coast.

Ruffin hated bullies. He'd dealt with plenty of them during his school days. When he joined the Marines, the bullies he faced carried assault rifles and rocket launchers and bomb vests and preferred to attack outdoor markets and nightclubs and schools. Teenager or terrorist, the mentality was the same. Pick on a target that won't fight back.

He shifted in his seat in the Hummer, feeling his heart hammer and his adrenaline surge. His grip tightened on the barrel of his German-made G36 rifle. He really wanted to show these bullies from Venezuela what happened someone did stand up to them.

"I have the latest from our link with _Eclipse,"_ reported Cheo See Choun, formerly of the Singapore Special Operations Force, as he stared at his laptop. "The Venezuelan naval squadron is ten miles from Port of Spain and closing."

Ruffin nodded and turned to the rest of his men in the Hummer. "Get ready, boys. It's almost showtime."

**XXXXX**

Lieutenant Gustavo Trillo's jaw clenched as he gazed out the cockpit of his Mi-17. He hated this mission. He hated himself for taking part in it. He was a soldier, not a crook.

_But you won't be stealing anything._

That didn't matter. He was still aiding and abetting, transporting the 30 marines in the back to Port of Spain to loot the place.

_We're supposed to defend the country, not act like some street gang._

Not that he could voice his misgivings. Well, he could. But then he'd land in jail. If he was lucky. Since General Moscoso assumed the presidency seven months ago, the man didn't hesitate to stand people in front of a firing squad who challenged his authority.

So he went from being a soldier to a crook, just so he could keep breathing.

"There's the fleet, dead ahead." Lieutenant Pineda, his co-pilot, pointed in front of them.

Trillo stared at the ocean below, made phosphorescent green from his night vision goggles. Five knife-like shapes sliced through the waves. The fleet.

_No, not a fleet. A raiding party._ And a rather formidable raiding party at that. Well, formidable compared to Trinidad and Tobago's small coast guard. The frigate _General Urdaneta, _with its array of guns, missiles and torpedoes, led the way. Two POVZEE-class patrol boats, _Guaiqueri _and _Warao,_ protected the flanks, while a small Point-class patrol boat brought up the rear. In the center sailed the _Goajira_, a Capana-class amphibious ship that carried two armored personnel carriers, two armed jeeps and 100 marines.

_One hundred criminals_, Trillo thought bitterly.

"Almost there. No sign of any Trinidadian boats or aircraft." Excitement coated Pineda's voice. "I just hope those marines bring us something back from their raid. I don't think an iPod or some booze is too much to ask for. We did fly their asses here, after all."

"We shall see." Trillo forced the words out of his mouth. He had to concentrate on not shaking his head. Pineda could report him to their superiors if he felt he didn't fully support this raid.

Trillo kept his eyes focused ahead of him. The lights of Port of Spain blazed in the distance. He glanced down at his map of the Trinidadian capital, focusing on the red circle drawn around their landing zone.

"What the hell's that?" Pineda blurted.

Trillo followed the co-pilot's gaze to the left. Through his NVGs, he spotted a brilliant white flare flying over the waves. His chest seized when he realized what it was.

_Missile!_

"_Urdaneta! Urdaneta!"_ he shouted into the radio. "Missile inbound! Evade! Evade!"

The frigate made a sharp turn to the left. Trillo wondered if they saw it before he had. Tracers cut across the sky, spewed out by _General Urdaneta's_ cannons. More yellow flashes streaked through the night sky as _Guaiqueri _opened up with its 35mm gun, trying to shoot down the missile.

A bright flash consumed the _General Urdaneta_.

"Holy shit!" Pineda gaped at the scene below.

Trillo tensed as he watched a pillar of fire rise from the frigate. Hundreds of sparks exploded from the deck as ammunition and warheads cooked off. _Urdaneta _carried a crew of more than 180. Would any of them get off before the ship went down?

More tracers blazed across the sky. Trillo lifted his head and looked in all directions.

More contrails flashed through the darkness. One of them connected with the _Guaiqueri_. A geyser of flame tore through the patrol boat.

"Who's shooting at us?" Pineda hollered. "The Trinidadians don't have anti-ship missiles."

Trillo said nothing. From the briefing they had back at base, only one group could be capable of launching missiles at them.

**XXXXX**

"Hot diggity damn, look at 'em burn!" Skrag wheeled his modified B-25 bomber, _Sky Bitch_, to the left. Flames engulfed the Venezuelan frigate. More Mavericks fired by the two F4U Corsairs in his flight struck the other patrol ship and the island of the landing ship.

"Hey, Z-Man!" he barked into the radio. "You gonna do something about that landing ship?"

"I'm starting my bomb run, so shut up. All right?"

Skrag just laughed and turned to his co-pilot, Dave Underwood. "So easy to piss him off, ain't it?"

Underwood, a chubby, graying man from Arkansas, shrugged in response. "I guess."

Skrag let out another laugh, his long gray hair shaking. He always loved giving the business to Zelaya, the Honduran who flew one of Shield International's little A-37 attack jets. That guy took himself way too seriously.

Two huge explosions ripped apart the landing ship. Skrag smiled. What Zelaya lacked in humor he made up for with his skills as a flier.

The A-37 rocketed over the burning Venezuelan ships. Yellow tracers shot into the sky from the Point-class patrol boat. They didn't come anywhere close to Zelaya's jet.

One of the Corsairs dove on the boat, flames flickering from its six wing-mounted .50 caliber machine guns. Dozens of water spouts shot up around the small patrol boat. The second Corsair also raked the boat, which began to belch smoke.

"Looks like you boys got your asses kicked by a bunch of museum pieces!" Skrag shouted at the window, then turned to Underwood. "I'm talkin' about the planes, not us, buddy." He howled with laughter.

"Thanks, I think," Underwood replied.

Skrag continued to laugh, stopping only when he noticed three large, cigar-shaped objects in the distance. "Ooh looky. Choppers." He clicked on the radio and alerted the rest of the flight. "Hey, gang. We got three choppers in the vicinity. Bearing one seven four. Big suckers. Troop transports. Probably those Ruski-built Mi-17s. How's about we give 'em all a little bath. A really hot bath, know what I mean?"

"I'm game," replied Bob Doyle, a former Marine Corps Harrier pilot who flew one of the Corsairs.

Skrag swung _Sky Bitch _around, coming up on the choppers' six. He'd been the one to put an RBS-15 anti-ship missile into that frigate. Now he was lining up on one of the Mi-17s. Two kills he could paint on the side of his bomber when he returned to Piarco International Airport.

_Not a bad day's work. _Not only that, but "The Chief" promised nice bonuses for every ship and aircraft they took out.

"You're lined up right on his tail," Underwood called out. "Seven hundred meters . . . six hundred . . . five hundred."

Skrag grinned and smashed the fire button on his controls. The B-25 vibrated as the two nose-mounted M230 Chain Guns opened fire. Armor-piercing 30mm rounds streaked across the night sky and tore into the Mi-17. Chunks of metal tumbled away from the helicopter as it shuddered. Flames blossomed from its rear doors. The Mi-17 lurched to the right and plummeted toward the water.

"Yippie, more bonus money for us!" Skrag banked away from the remaining two choppers. A minute later, Doyle dove on another Mi-17. It tried to jink and throw off the former Marine's fire, but the chopper was as maneuverable as a school bus. Doyle laced it with .50 cal rounds. The Mi-17 spewed flames and dropped into the Caribbean Sea.

Skrag searched for Zelaya or the other Corsair to finish off the last chopper when a French-accented voice came over the radio.

"_Eclipse _to Bengal Flight. Two bandits approaching your position from the east, forty miles and closing. Bandits IDed as Venezuelan F-16s. Withdraw immediately."

"You don't have to tell me twice, _Eclipse,_" he replied to the operator in the 737 converted by Shield International into an Airborne Early Warning and Control aircraft. "We're outta here."

Skrag turned toward Trinidad, looking back to make sure the Corsairs and the Dragonfly were with him. A frowned flashed across his face. He didn't like to run from a fight. But no way his modified B-25 stood a chance against a high-performance fighter like the F-16. Plus, as an American, he didn't like the thought of being shot down by a jet built by his own country. Talk about a kick in the balls.

_Aw well, now Tombstone can have some fun._

**XXXXX**

Captain Ruperto Verde shook his head as he saw the lines of bright red in the distance.

_They are begging to be shot down._

The afterburner trails continued to climb higher into the night sky. Verde checked his AN/APG-66 radar. He had good returns on all four planes. They had to be from the mercenary group Shield International. The Trinidadians had no combat jets of their own. Not that the ones Shield had caused him concern. Most of their aircraft were relics from World War II or the Vietnam War. They could take on the stubby K-8 attack jets further back. But against his F-16, they were no match.

Verde heard a steady _beeeep_ in his headphones. His AIM-7 Sparrow missiles had locked on to two of the four targets. His wingman, Lopez, radioed he had solid locks on the other two.

"Fire Sparrows!" Verde ordered.

He shut his eyes for a few seconds so as not to be blinded by the flash of the missiles. After opening his eyes, he kept the nose of his F-16 pointed at the enemy planes, using the radar to help guide the missiles to them. He could see the jets change course. They probably also dumped flares and chaff to try and throw off the missiles. No matter. Even if the Sparrows missed, he and Lopez would move in and use their Python heat-seeking missiles to –

The radar warning receiver blared in the cockpit.

"What?" Verde swung his head in all directions and checked his mirrors. He glimpsed a spot of red behind him. An enemy missile!

_Where did that come from?_

"Missile, six o'clock!" He shouted into his radio. "Evade! Evade!"

Verde jammed the control stick left. G-forces pressed down on his body, threatening to crush him. He grunted and banked the jet right, thumbing the HOTAS control to drop flares and chaff. He scanned left and right, trying to see if he sho-

**XXXXX**

"Yee-haa!" Willie "Tombstone" Trasch, formerly of the German _Luftwaffe, _smiled in satisfaction as he watched two fireballs in the distance.

"It looks like your plan worked," said Marko Eder, his weapons systems officer, from the backseat.

"Did you have any doubts?"

"Never."

Tombstone's smile grew wider. He knew his F-4s and F-8s could never win a head-to-head engagement with an F-16. So they had to get sneaky. While the Venezuelans concentrated on Bronco Flight, who presented a tempting target with their afterburners lit, Tombstone's Rodeo Flight skirted the waves, then climbed and got behind the F-16s. After that, it was easy to put a couple Sidewinders in them.

Unfortunately, the Venezuelan threat was far from over.

"_Eclipse. _I need a vector on enemy attack squadron."

The French operator aboard _Eclipse _told Tombstone the four K-8s were 25 miles from Port of Spain and diving for the deck, likely hoping to make it difficult for his pilots to find them on radar.

Not that it mattered to planes equipped with Forward-Looking Infra-Red pods.

As Tombstone's F-4 closed with the K-8s, their heat signatures glowed bright white on the FLIR screen. Within seconds a steady beeping filled his headphones as the Sidewinder locked on to one of the Venezuelan jets.

"Good tone. Fox Two."

Tombstone pressed the fire button. The Sidewinder jumped off the rail under the F-4's right wing. More contrails streaked around him as other F-4 Phantoms and F-8 Crusaders launched their Sidewinders.

Large fountains of water rose beneath the K-8s. The little jets dumped their bombs and rockets and banked away from the incoming missiles. A white ball flared in Tombstone's FLIR screen. Another one formed. Another.

The surviving K-8 rocketed over the sea, heading south, back to Venezuela.

"Shall we pursue?" Eder asked.

"Negative. He has no more fight in him. Besides, when he lands, he can tell all his friends, there is a new sheriff in town."

"Ha-Ha. You need to stop watching so many American Westerns."

"That will never happen . . . pardner."

Tombstone swung his Phantom around and headed back toward Port of Spain with the rest of his flight. He checked in with _Eclipse _to see if there were any more targets. All enemy ships had been neutralized, and all enemy aircraft had been shot down or fled.

Except one Mi-17 that had just entered Port of Spain airspace.

Tombstone frowned. Even if they could catch up to that chopper, he didn't fancy shooting it down over a heavily populated city.

_Oh well. Now Ruff and his groundpounders can get a piece of the action._

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	2. Chapter 2

_Nice of the flyboys to leave some for us._

Ruffin's heartbeat picked up as the Hummer tore out of the parking lot of King George V Park. He glanced at Cheo's laptop, which showed a feed from _Eclipse. _It had one track, a Venezuelan Mi-17, which just passed over Port of Spain's harbor and headed due north.

"It's gotta be going for The Savannah." He referred to Queens Park Savannah. "Perfect LZ. Flat, lots of open space."

"And many targets for them to choose from," noted Sergeant Edward Jellicoe, their liaison with the Trinidad and Tobago Defense Force. "The Magnificent Seven borders the Savannah, and the President's House is not far from there."

Ruffin's jaw stiffened. Would the Venezuelans actually try to capture, or God forbid kill, the President? Would that make the international community finally get off their butts and do something about this conflict? Would Venezuela want to risk that kind of trouble?

_It's General Moscoso we're talking about. Who the hell knows what's going on inside his crazy mind?_

He switched frequencies to the platoon net. "Alpha and Bravo Teams, converge on the President's House and set up a defensive perimeter."

The team leaders both replied, "Roger."

"Charlie and Delta Teams, get over to the Magnificent Seven and take up defensive positions."

More "rogers" came through his earpiece.

"I've got eyes on the chopper," a British accented-voice said from behind him.

Ruffin turned around and looked up at the stout form of Kevin White, a former Royal Marine who manned the Hummer's pintel-mounted M240 machine gun.

"Where is it?"

"Directly to the south, and descending."

Ruffin looked out the window, his NVGs turning the night sky green. He spotted the Mi-17 approaching the Savannah, just a couple hundred feet off the ground.

"Step on it, Cheo!"

The Singaporean mashed the gas pedal. Ruffin was slammed back in his seat as the Hummer sped toward the entrance to the Savannah. He glanced up at the chopper again. It dropped closer to the ground, less than a mile away. The veins in his neck stuck out. The Mi-17 could carry about thirty troops. Probably Venezuelan marines. Well-trained troops. His squad would be outnumbered three-to-one. It would have been best if they could have shot down the chopper before it landed.

But part of him wanted a piece of the Venezuelans. Back in the Marine Corps, his instructors had told him to never make the fight personal. He found that lesson hard to follow when he came across civilians maimed and killed by a bunch of scumbag terrorists or pirates. That ultimately led to his dismissal from the Corps.

He shook off those thoughts as the Mi-17 touched down. The helicopter's clamshell rear doors swung open. Men rushed down the ramp, most carrying rifles with long, curved magazines. Probably AK-103s.

"JQ! Come around the left side of the chopper. We'll take the right side."

"Roger," replied Jaqwuan Hughes, a former 82nd Airborne officer and Ruffin's number two man in the team's second Hummer.

"White. Akua. Lay down MG fire."

"Roger," replied Kennan Akua, a native of the small Pacific island nation of Nauru and former French Foreign Legion paratrooper.

"With pleasure," said White.

A deep chatter echoed through the Hummer. Two sets of tracers streaked through the air and into the Venezuelans. Six of them spun and flailed and fell before the others dove for the ground. Strobes erupted from their AKs. Two spider web-like cracks formed on the Hummer's bullet-resistant glass.

"Cut right!" Ruffin shouted.

Cheo twisted the wheel and slammed on the brakes. Ruffin shoved the door open and jumped out. White's M240 continued hammering away. Ruffin rested his elbows on the Hummer's hood, sighted a Venezuelan marine lying prone and put the G36's laser sight on the man's shoulder. He triggered a three-round burst. The Venezuelan spasmed and rolled on his side.

Bullets pinged off the Hummer's hood. Ruffin ducked down as rounds cracked overhead. He leaned around the front of the Hummer and fired a couple of bursts.

A deep chatter erupted from the Mi-17. Ruffin glimpsed the muzzle flash from the chopper's door-mounted machine gun. He ducked behind the Hummer. The vehicle shuddered as large caliber round pounded it.

"Somebody take out that door gunner!" he shouted into the radio.

"I got it, Boss."

Ruffin glanced at the other end of the Hummer. Jaelin Hughes, JQ's younger brother and the team sniper, lay prone, clutching his Remington 700. One second passed. Two seconds. A crack split the air.

"Door gunner down!"

Ruffin peeked around the Hummer. The door-mounted machine gun was quiet. A human-shaped lump lay beside it, unmoving.

"Best!" he called out to a burly man with a red-gray goatee.

Don Best, the former British paratrooper, hurried over. "Sir!"

"HE grenade. Door gun. I don't want anyone else using that damn thing."

"Neither do I."

Both men shoved high explosive grenades into the launchers under the barrels of their G36s.

"Cheo! Jellicoe! Cover fire on three."

Both men acknowledged him.

"One . . . Two . . . Three!"

Cheo and Jellicoe opened up near the rear of the Hummer. White also hammered away with his machine gun. The Venezuelans not hit laid on their stomachs.

"Now!"

Ruffin and Best stepped away from the Hummer. Ruffin sighted the Mi-17's open door. A deep _thump _came from his grenade launcher. Best fired a second later.

Flame, smoke and sparks blotted out the machine gun.

Ruffin and Best loaded frag grenades into their launchers and fired. Two small explosions went up among the Venezuelans. Two marines rolled around on the ground, their screams barely heard over the gunfire.

One of the marines tossed away his AK-103 and held up his hands. Another did the same. Another. Before long all the surviving Venezuelans surrendered.

"Cease fire!" Ruffin waved his left hand in front of his face. "Cease fire!"

The guns fell silent. The stench of cordite hung heavy in the air, stinging his nostrils. A dull hum filled his ears.

"White, cover us. The rest of you on me. Secure the prisoners."

Ruffin led his men forward, shouting, "Don't move!" in both English and Spanish.

The Venezuelans obeyed.

The first one he reached grimaced in pain. Ruffin noticed the bottom half of his left pant leg stained with blood.

"Linc," he radioed.

"Here, Major," replied Lincoln "Linc" Morton, an ex-Green Beret and the team medic.

"I've got an injured prisoner on the port side."

"I'm tending to two more on the starboard side, one with a stomach wound. I have to stabilize him before I treat anyone else."

"Copy that. I'll bandage the wound as -"

The pilot's side door of the Mi-17 opened. Ruffin brought up his G36. Jaelin raised his SIG Sauer P226 pistol.

"Freeze! Hands on your head!"

"Don't shoot!" The pilot placed both hands on top of his helmet. "Please don't shoot! I surrender!"

"On you stomach!" Jaelin ordered. "Cross your left foot over your right. Try anything funny and you're dead."

Both Ruffin and Jaelin hurried over to the pilot. Ruffin covered Jaelin while the short, compact sniper expertly frisked the Venezuelan, just like he'd done to hundreds of perps during his days with LAPD SWAT. After taking the pilot's pistol and survival knife, Jaelin pulled the man up to his feet.

"Name?" Ruffin asked in Spanish, one of three languages he could speak fluently.

"Gustavo Trillo, Lieutenant, _Aviación Militar Nacional Bolivariana Venezolana."_

Ruffin grunted in bemusement at the long-ass title for the Venezuelan Air Force. "Well, Lieutenant, looks like you picked a bad day to go from soldier to looter."

"No, no. I-I just flew them here. I was not going to loot."

"Yeah, I'm sure that really gonna matter to the Trinidadians."

"What are you going to do to me?" Trillo swallowed. "You're an American, right? You're not going to water board me."

Ruffin studied the pilot's face. His fear was evident. He didn't come close to qualifying as a candidate for enhanced interrogation.

Still, no need to tell him that. Better to keep him scared. Who knew what information Trillo might give up?

"I guess that's up to the Trinidadians. Our orders are to turn any prisoners over to them."

"They . . . They won't torture me, will they?"

Ruffin suppressed a devilish smile. _Oh, I can have some fun with this. _ "Hmm. I don't know. Jaelin, you're an ex-cop. You know all about the law. You know if Trinidad has any laws against torturing prisoners?"

Jaelin didn't need any prompts to play along. "You got me, Major. Then again, some of these little countries have pretty harsh rules. Hell, you graffiti up a wall in Cheo's country, they cane your ass."

"Yeah, you're right," said Ruffin. "Who knows what the Trinidadians'll do to a guy who flew a platoon of marines to the capital to loot the place."

Trillo's eyes widened. He visibly trembled. "I . . . I may know some things."

Ruffin stepped closer to him, lowering his rifle. Jaelin still had Trillo covered with his SIG. "What kind of things?"

"There's been talk around my base. My commanding officer, he knows people at headquarters in Caracas. He's says they've been talking about some kind of major operation, that these raids are just part of it."

"What sort of major operation?" Ruffin demanded.

"I don't know the details. All he says is that it's big. Really big."

**XXXXX**

For a split-second, Ulljrex wished General Moscoso was here in the control room instead of his office in Caracas. Then he could wrap his hands around that screaming lunatic's throat and squeeze until the life drained from his fat body.

"The Americans should have their carriers sitting off our coast by now!" Moscoso shouted, his fleshy, bearded face taking up much of the screen in front of Ulljrex. "You said this would work, that these raids would draw them out. But they haven't. And now the damn mercenaries the Trinidadians hired destroyed the entire raiding party!"

"Yes, that was unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Moscoco threw his arms out to his sides. "Unfortunate? We lost five ships and over a hundred marines to a group of people who fly airplanes older than me! The Americans will never come now, knowing that we can be beaten by a little band of ex-soldiers. Do you know how that makes me look to the rest of the world? They now see me and my country as feeble! All because I listened to your idea! Now I am a fool to the rest of the world, and it's all your fault, damn you!"

Ulljrex pressed his elbows into the armrests of his swivel chair. Blood pulsated behind his eyes. He couldn't believe he allowed a damn human to talk to him like this and let him live. His race had already conquered several star systems while these primitive scum lived in mud huts and threw sharpened sticks at one another. And this one dared to speak to him as though he was a superior? How dare he think himself better than even the most addled member of the Simbaaku?

_Yet these primitives defeated us more than thirty years ago._

That fact made Ulljrex even more furious. Somehow, he kept that emotion from showing on his simulated human face. Curse the Infinite Night, he hated looking like these damned Earthers.

"Perhaps you can launch another raid." Ulljrex managed to keep his voice steady. Much as he hated Moscoso, liked he hated all humans, he still needed him . . . dammit. "A much larger one. One that will overwhelm both the Trinidadian humans and their hired warriors from Shield International."

"No! No more raids!" Moscoso slammed a fist on his desk. "These stupid raids you asked for have done nothing to force the Americans' hands. How can it with the president they have? He admits he detests using force. He thinks pretty words and treating his enemies with respect will resolve conflict." He turned his head and spat. "The man has the backbone of a little girl. You should have known that! What is wrong with you? You build spaceships that can fly across the galaxy but you cannot predict the actions of a single man? What sort of intelligent lifeform are you?"

Ulljrex tensed, wanting to leap into the screen and batter this primitive mud-eater with his bare hands. Instead he filed the insult away in his mind. He'd remember it when the time came to kill Moscoso once his usefulness was at an end.

"This time," Moscoso continued. "I will do something that is sure to lure the Americans here. I will not raid Trinidad. I will invade it! Even a coward like President Atherton cannot ignore a full-scale invasion of another country. He will have to send his carriers here, then your little pet can destroy them and show the Americans how weak they really are. That is, if you are competent enough to do your part."

Moscoso stabbed something on his desk. The screen went black.

"I have had enough of that damn human."

Ulljrex turned in his chair. A stocky Simbaaku in a silver one-piece suit and an Asian human mask stood in front of him, scowling.

"How many more of his insults must we endure?" Pelgret asked. "Even his predecessor was not this bad, and that human was barely sane."

"I don't like dealing with General Moscoso any more than you do. Were it up to me, we'd kill every human we came across. But there are only six of us left from the original mission. We, unfortunately, need these Venezuelan humans to provide us a secure location for, as Moscoso calls it, our pet."

Ulljrex looked up at one of the 3-D screens in the control room. It showed a large, grayish-red reptilian creature with a long neck, a flat snout and an orange fin running down the back of its neck.

"Why should we wait for these American humans to send their water ships here?" asked Pelgret. "They're no match for Titanosaurus. We should just send him to the American nation and wipe it out."

Ulljrex shook his head. "It is not enough to destroy the humans, not after they defeated us all those years ago. America is one of the most powerful human nations on this planet. Their aircraft carriers are the most prominent symbol of their supposed might. Destroying even one of them would deliver a psychological blow to the American humans. They will know that none of their weapons will be able to stop Titanosaurus. I want their spirit broken. I want them cowering in fear and despair. Then, and only then, will we exterminate all of them."

"But will they send one of those carriers here? Though I'm loathe to admit it, Moscoso is correct. The leader of these American humans is a weakling that prefers negotiating to fighting." Pelgret grunted. "How did a human like that ever become a leader?"

"It's a mystery to me as well, as are most things the humans do. From my research into American humans, they appear willing to participate in armed conflicts anywhere on this planet, even when their interests do not appear threatened. In that respect, it was somewhat surprising they did not seek to involve themselves in this conflict."

"Then how do we get them involved?"

"We will have to attack something that is of interest to them. Something near this region that will draw their carriers here, and we shall use Titanosaurus to do it."

"I thought the nanobots had not finished repairing him," said Pelgret.

"All physiological repairs have been completed. The upgrades to outer skin are almost complete. There is also Titanosaurus' new offensive ability. That has been finished, but it has yet to be tested."

Ulljrex grinned. "I think we can find a suitable test for it."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_I decided to give the aliens the name Simbaaku because it sounded better than "The Spacemen from the Third Planet of the Black Hole," as they were referred to in the English-dubbed version of "Terror of Mechagodzilla."_


	3. Chapter 3

"Man, how does he do it?"

Ruffin turned to Jaelin, who sat a few stools away from him at the bar. He followed the sniper's gaze to a table in the middle of the crowded nightclub. There he saw Skrag, laughing it up with a slender, dark-skinned beautiful Trinidadian woman on each arm.

"The man's all gray, has a beer gut, looks like he doesn't shave and is older than my dad," said Jaelin. "How the hell does he still get girls like that?"

"Must be giving 'em a good story," Ruffin said.

"Which one this time?" asked White.

"Could be the time he auditioned to be Lynyrd Skynyrd's bass player, or his three years with Hell's Angels. Who knows?" Ruffin wondered how many of Skrag's stories were true and how many were BS. Hard to tell with him, since he told them so convincingly. True or not, it helped Skrag score more than some guys 40 years younger.

Ruffin scanned the rest of nightclub. People chatted and laughed and drank and danced. From what he'd seen on his way over, several bars and nightclubs in Port of Spain were packed, the locals celebrating last night's rout of the Venezuelan military. At the center of that celebration, at least in this nightclub, were the members of Shield International. The moment he and his team walked in, most of the patrons applauded them. Men shook their hands and slapped their shoulders. Women hugged and kissed them. Some kisses on the cheek, others on the lips.

_Hail the conquering heroes_, Ruffin mused. That's when he spotted Sergeant Jellicoe at another table with two men he recognized from the Trinidad and Tobago Regiment. None of them looked particularly happy. Jellicoe especially. Ruffin felt a twinge of empathy for their Trinidadian liaison. Jellicoe struck him as a proud and professional soldier. It probably didn't sit well for a man like that to have to depend on a bunch of foreigners to protect his country. Hell, Ruffin knew how he'd feel having someone else fight his battles for him. Unfortunately, without any true warships and warplanes of their own, Trinidad had no way to counter the Venezuelan navy and air force.

"A toast!" Akua raised his bottle of beer. "To kicking much ass on the Venezuelans!"

The other team members raised their glasses, with Ruffin giving a loud, "Uuh-Rah!"

"And if Moscoso's stupid enough to try this again," White said. "We'll kick much more Venezuelan arse!"

More cheers went up from the team.

"He will try again," said a lean, dour-faced man. "Most likely with an even bigger force that will not be easy to stop."

Jaelin responded with a snorting laugh. "Man, do you always have to be such a downer, Fets?"

Dmitri Fetisov, ex-Russian Naval Spetsnaz, just shrugged. "I am not a downer. I am being realist. We have wounded General Moscoso's pride. He will not let that stand. He will strike again, harder."

"Then we'll just have to hit him even harder." White slammed his beer bottle on the bar for emphasis.

"Yeah!" Akua pumped his fist. "Bring them on!"

Ruffin smiled. Much as he wanted to celebrate last night's victory, the eternally morose Fetisov did have a point. He doubted a nutjob like Moscoso would take kindly to such a defeat. He'd respond, respond big time. And Shield International would have to be ready for it.

"Another round for these brave men," a familiar, booming voice rang out.

Ruffin and the others looked to the left. A stocky, bald man just under six foot walked up to them, smiling.

"Chief," Ruffin greeted him.

"Glad you could join us," said JQ.

"My pleasure," replied Daniel Briggs, the CEO of Shield International.

"So where have you been keeping yourself, Sir?" asked Best.

"Dinner with The President at his house. He wants to do a medal ceremony for you guys, show his appreciation for what you did last night."

Some of the men quietly nodded, but didn't look very enthused. Ruffin maintained a neutral expression. None of them had gotten into this profession seeking medals. The ones that did didn't last very long, either in training or on the battlefield.

"What about the Venezuelan prisoners?" Ruffin asked Briggs. "We get anything out of them?"

"Not much, other than they were going after the Magnificent Seven. That helicopter pilot you and Officer Hughes got kept talking about something big going down, but couldn't elaborate."

"Could be anything from an invasion to WMDs," said Ruffin.

"Who knows? We'll have to keep an eye on Moscoso. We gave him a hell of a bloody nose, but I don't think this thing between Venezuela and Trinidad is over."

"I told you." Fetisov took a swig from his beer.

"You know, it's not always good to be right," Jaelin told him.

Fetisov grunted and took another swig.

"But we'll do that tomorrow," Briggs continued. "Meanwhile, you men enjoy yourselves. You earned it."

They thanked the CEO as he headed off, talking with other Shield International members.

A few minutes later the pounding DJ beat came to an end as the karaoke portion of the night began. First up was Tombstone, clad in his cowboy boots and hat. He sung George Strait's "Carrying Your Love with Me."

Ruffin shook his head. "There's something unnatural about a country song being sung in a German accent."

"Well it looks like he ain't doin' bad," Jaelin noted. "He's got people up and dancing, including some really fine women." He leapt off his stool and came over to JQ. "C'mon, big brother. Let's hit the dance floor and show those honeys a good time. What'd you say?"

JQ raised his hand and rubbed the gold band on his ring finger with his thumb. "I say I'm married."

Jaelin grinned. "Good. More girls for me."

He turned, then paused, his eyes locked on the front door. "Whoa. Look what just walked in."

Ruffin also looked to the door. He tensed when he spotted the woman. She was around five-seven with a trim figure and a skirt that ended above the knees, revealing firm, slender legs. Dark brown, shoulder-length hair frame a smooth, tan face with full red lips.

"Oh crap."

Jaelin turned to him, a puzzled look on his face. "Why 'oh crap?'"

The woman caught his gaze. Ruffin drew a breath and held it. Desire and dread flooded through him.

"That there, lad, is the Major's ex-girlfriend," Best jumped in. "Watch what you say around her. She works for The Agency."

Jaelin nodded. "I take it you're not talking about a travel agency."

The woman strode toward them. Several of the male patrons watched her go by with wide eyes. Ruffin's jaw stiffened. Heat rose inside him as she stopped just a few feet in front of him.

"Hey, Miranda." He flashed her a smile.

Miranda Quintero nodded to him. "John." She then scanned the other team members. "Gentlemen."

The men greeted her, a few of them, including Best and JQ, by name.

"So, it looks like you're the big heroes around here."

"We're not heroes," Ruffin told her. "We just did our jobs."

"Uh-huh." Miranda nodded. "Well, the job you did last night didn't make a lot of people in Washington happy."

Ruffin scoffed. "When you say, 'People in Washington,' what you really mean is President Atherton. What, he pissed because we actually did something about these raids while he sat in the Oval Office looking like a pussy?"

Jaelin, White and Akua all chuckled.

"This is serious, John." Miranda gave him a look like a mother scolding a child. She then glanced around. "Is there somewhere we can talk? Privately?"

"My hotel room's not far from here."

He noticed the hesitation in Miranda's face.

"Hey, I'm sure your buddies at The Agency already replaced the bugs I found and destroyed. This'll save you the time of having to write out a report for them."

Miranda exhaled loudly. "All right."

Ruffin bid his men good-night. Best leaned toward him and said under his breath, "Careful with her, Sir."

"I'll be fine."

He noticed the corners of the ex-sergeant major's mouth twitch. This wasn't the first time Miranda shadowed Shield International on one of its missions. She'd popped up when they took down that group of pirates in Somalia and the al-Qaeda terrorists in Tajikistan. Each time she told them what they were doing had serious political consequences for the Atherton Administration.

Ruffin frowned as they exited the club. He thought back to three years ago in Djibouti, when he was still in the Marine Corps, on anti-pirate ops with the Fleet Anti-Terrorism Security Team, or FAST. Miranda had been his CIA liaison. My God, the times they had together. Now here they were on opposite sides of the spectrum.

Not that that ever seemed to matter after Miranda finished giving him her warnings on behalf of President Atherton.

"So when did you get into Port of Spain?" he asked as a cool breeze washed over them.

"Four months ago."

He gave her a puzzled look. "What, you can see into the future? You knew we were gonna be here now?"

Miranda grinned briefly. "Port of Spain is my new duty station. We're just a stone's throw away from Venezuela, so it's a perfect place to keep an eye on them. I can speak Spanish, I spent two summers in South America when I was in college. The Agency felt this was a good place for me."

"And it makes it convenient for you to ride our asses when we 'get out of line.'" He used his middle and index fingers as quotation marks on the last four words.

Miranda shot him a nasty glare. She didn't say another word the rest of the walk back to the Marriott and up the elevator. When they entered his hotel room, Ruffin announced loudly, for the benefit of the CIA bugs, "We're home!"

He turned to face Miranda, a big smile on his face. Her brow furrowed as she shut the door, hard.

"Just a little joke." Ruffin looked past Miranda to the full-length mirror on the door, which reflected his lean, solid 5'10 frame crowned by short light brown hair. He checked his expression, hoping it looked innocent enough to disarm Miranda.

Judging from the sharp look on her face, it didn't.

"Do you know what you and your company did last night?"

"Yeah. We prevented the Venezuelan military from raiding Port of Spain again."

"And by doing that, you created an international incident."

Ruffin rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't give me that crap again."

"Blowing up pirates and terrorists is one thing. But now, Shield International, a private company, committed an act of war against a sovereign nation. There are five Venezuelan warships at the bottom of the Caribbean and nearly three hundred soldiers, sailors and airmen dead or wounded."

"Then they shouldn't have tried to commit an act of war on another sovereign nation." He suppressed a smile of satisfaction at throwing Miranda's argument back at her.

Not that it deterred her. "It also makes the United States look inept and weak. Like we can't solve these kinds of crises."

"You mean it makes President Atherton look inept and weak, which he is."

"He is trying to resolve this conflict."  
>"Really? How?"<p>

Miranda paused. "He's been talking with the United Nations, trying to come up with a resolution to condemn the Venezuelan raids."

Ruffin barked out a laugh. "A UN resolution? Are you kidding me? You think someone like General Moscoco gives a damn about some politician wagging his finger and telling him to stop attacking Trinidad, pretty please with sugar on top?"

He placed his hands on his hips. "You know when I was in sixth grade, there was this SOB seventh grader who used to bully me around. Then you know what I did?"

"What?"

"I hung out with my cousin Doug over the summer. He was with the high school wrestling team. He got me in shape, taught me some moves. Then first day of school, when that douchebag put a hand on me, I hauled off and belted him. Gave him a nice bloody lip. He never bothered me again after that."

"I take it there's a point to that story."

"The point is there are people in the world who couldn't give a crap about talking and resolutions. They're evil bastards, and the only thing they respond to is a swift kick in the ass. And that's what we gave General Moscoso last night."

"That swift kick in the ass could land Shield International in a lot of trouble. The President contacted the Attorney General about possible legal action against your company."

"Let 'em try. We have a contract with the government of Trinidad and Tobago to help in the defense of their country. We were acting on their behalf. So if that wuss Atherton wants to serve us a warrant, tell him he can stick it up his ass. We're staying here, and if Moscoso wants to launch another raid, then he's gonna be out more planes and ships and soldiers."

Anger lines etched in Miranda's face. She shook her head. "That stubborn Scottish pride of yours is going to bite you in the ass one day."

"Ha! That's rich, coming from the queen of stubborn Puerto Rican pride."

Miranda closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. She spoke through clenched teeth. "Tell your boss, Mister Briggs, that he is stepping on some big toes in Washington, and if he cares about his company and all his US interests and holdings, he'll rethink what he's doing in Trinidad."

"I'll tell him. But I guarantee you he'll ignore it. Now if you're -"

"Dammit, John!" Miranda walked up to him and grabbed his wrist. He held his breath, his chest tightening.

Miranda also paused, biting her lip for a moment. She spoke in a low voice. "I'm begging you, listen to me. You don't want to take on Atherton and his administration. You've seen how his people can tear apart their opponents. They'll do the same to you, your men and the rest of Shield International."

"We're not afraid of Atherton and his attack dogs. They want a fight, we'll give them a fight."

"John, please." She tightened her grip on his wrist.

He stared into her face, that beautiful face. Her anger dissolved, replaced by worrying. He could see the pleading in her eyes.

She took a step closer to him.

Ruffin's heartbeat picked up. He continued staring at her face.

He drew a staggered breath, wrapped his free arm around Miranda's waist and drew her against his body. They kissed.

**XXXXX**

Al Lemongello stood on the bridge of the cruise ship _Emerald Wind_, gazing out at the darkened, calm waters of the Caribbean. Some would hate having the graveyard shift as officer of the deck. Not Lemongello. He liked the quiet of the night. It proved relaxing. He needed the chance to relax after that two year hell called his divorce. All the lawyers and court dates and screaming matches with his bitch of an ex-wife and fighting to see his children more than two days a month caused him to gain twenty pounds, lose his hair and take pills for his high blood pressure.

Out here, in the middle of the ocean, he could forget about that. The world was calm. Just the ocean, the stars and –

A quake ripped through _Emerald Wind._ Lemongello fell to the deck. So did everyone else on the bridge.

"What the hell was that?" blurted Howell, the helmsmen.

"I'll check. Call the captain. Tell him to report to the bridge."

"Yes, Sir."

Lemongello pushed himself to his feet and rushed outside to the bridge wing. He turned to the right. Fear and shock froze his muscles.

A jagged tear went up the port side and through the aft decks. Already he could feel the cruise ship listing.

"Sound the alarm!" he shouted to Howell. "Get everyone to the lifeboats. Tell the captain -"

A rush of water erupted behind him. He swung around. Lemongello gasped, his wide, terrified eyes locked on the form before him.

_Oh my God._ He was vaguely aware he'd wet his pants. He kept looking at the thing towering over _Emerald Wind_, not wanting to believe it. He'd only seen this thing in pictures and videos from the alien attack on Japan thirty some years ago. But Godzilla had killed it. It shouldn't be here. It shouldn't!

Titanosaurus reared back and let out a roar that sounded like a hundred angry elephants. It raised its arms and brought them down.

Lemongello managed to scream before his world ended in a crash and darkness.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hatteras Abyssal Plain, 500 miles off the Florida Coast_

The feeling scratched the back of his brain. An unpleasant feeling, one that stirred him from his long slumber. Much time had passed since he last experienced this. It hastened his awakening. For the only time he felt this way was when a great menace threatened the world.

His world.

Another tingle crept through his brain. He sensed something familiar about this enemy. They had fought before, many years ago. But he had killed that creature, and its masters not of this world.

Or so he had thought.

They were back. They wanted to visit destruction upon this world and the humans he was conditioned to protect.

His massive scaly green body, and the spiked plates running down his back, shuddered. He pushed himself off the ocean floor and shot through the water, breaking the surface in an explosion of white foam.

Godzilla reared back, let out a roar, and swam south, toward the enemy.

**XXXXX**

Something bumped into Ruffin's leg, waking him up instantly. For a split second he tensed, going into combat mode. That evaporated quickly when he realized he was in his hotel room, in bed, with Miranda Quintero stirring next to him.

He rolled onto his side, watching as she curled up under the covers. He softly sighed, thinking back to the Djibouti mission. Miranda's exotic beauty had been what first made him stand up and take notice of this CIA officer. But when he got to know her better, saw her dedication to duty and country, her intellect, her compassion, he couldn't help but fall hard for her. As their relationship grew more serious, he witnessed first hand Miranda's stubbornness and tough-as-nails attitude. Such traits might drive most men away.

Not John Ruffin. He liked women with fire in them, women who could challenge him. He counted himself lucky to be in love with a woman like that.

His shoulders sagged as he thought about those last days in Djibouti. He'd cracked the butt of his pistol over the head of some piece of shit pirate to get information on the whereabouts of an American yacht and the family aboard, which included two girls ages 11 and 7. His FAST team found the vessel, killed the pirates aboard and saved the entire family. But what was his reward? Getting booted out of The Corps for using excessive force. Good-bye Djibouti, good-bye killing pirates.

Good-bye Miranda.

Or so he thought until she began showing up during all his missions for Shield International.

Ruffin reached out and gently stroked her hair. His fingers then traced their way down the back of her neck, then down her spine. Miranda moaned softly, woke up and faced him.

"Morning," she said in a sleepy voice.

"Morning." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

"This always happens, doesn't it?" Miranda said. "I tell you to tell Shield International to back off, we argue, then we jump into bed."

"Something tells me you don't mind, otherwise you'd have your bosses get someone else to do this. Unless you're some kind of honey trap."

Miranda huffed. "You think that's the only reason I'd sleep with you?"

"Hey, you were the one who taught me all about the spy business."

"I think I taught you too well."

Miranda slid up to Ruffin and kissed him long and deep.

"You know you're not gonna get any information out of me," he told her.

"Maybe, maybe not." She lightly ran a finger down his cheek. "But I can have fun trying."

Ruffin let her push him on his back. He wrapped his arms around her as they kissed furiously.

That's when his cell phone rang.

"Aw, dammit," Miranda groaned, kissing Ruffin's chest before he picked up his phone.

He scanned the caller ID. It was Daniel Briggs. He wriggled free of Miranda, hit the scramble button, and put the phone to his ear.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Are you secure on your end?"

"Affirmative."

"Good. We have a situation. A major one."

"What is it?"

"Sometime last night, an American-flagged cruise ship, the _Emerald Wind, _went down sixty miles west of Grenada. One of their coast guard ships came across a large debris field a couple of hours ago. The Grenadians and Trinidadians both have sea and air patrols in the area. So far we haven't had any word of survivors."

"No distress call?"

"Nobody picked up anything," said Briggs. "According to the cruise ship operator, all their communications prior to the sinking were routine. Whatever happened to that ship happened fast."

"You think the Venezuelans are responsible?" Ruffin sat up against the headboard.

"We don't know yet. In any case, I sent some of Tombstone's boys to fly CAP for the search and rescue teams, in case Moscoso tries anything."

"How many people were on the ship?"

"Over a thousand."

Ruffin closed his eyes and sighed. A thousand people. A thousand men, women and children just sailing around the Caribbean, enjoying food and games and dances and concerts, not a threat to anyone.

Anger pushed aside his sorrow. He didn't believe this to be an accident. Had _Emerald Wind_ suffered some catastrophic mechanical failure or collided with another ship, the crew would have some time to get off an SOS. It had to have been an attack. And right now the only person he suspected was General Moscoso.

His grip on the cell phone tightened. Ruffin wished his hand was instead around Moscoso's throat, crushing the life out of him, making him pay for snuffing out one thousand innocent people who never did a damn thing to him.

"What do you want me to do, Chief?"

"Get down here to our usual spot." Briggs referred to Camp Ogden, the home base of the First Battalion of the Trinidad and Tobago Regiment in nearby St. James. Even on a secure line, they still had to choose their words carefully. "If the Venezuelans are stepping up their military operations, we need to be ready. I'll see you in an hour."

"I'm on the way."

Ruffin hit the END button and put the phone back on his nightstand.

"What is it?" Miranda asked.

He turned to her and bit his lip. The "need to know" mentality started to take over. He shook it off. The loss of a cruise ship with a thousand people had to be all over CNN and FOX News by now.

"That was Chief Briggs. A cruise ship called _Emerald Wind _sank last night near Grenada. One thousand people aboard. They haven't found any survivors."

"Oh my God." Miranda stared at him, mouth agape. "Does he think the Venezuelans attacked it?"

"We don't know yet. But we gotta get ready in case they did." Ruffin threw the covers off him and headed for the bathroom. "I'm just gonna take a quick shower and go."

He flicked on the light and the fan, closed the door behind him and turned on the shower. It didn't take long for the water to warm up. Just as drew back the sliding glass door Miranda entered the bathroom.

"I, um, I thought you might like some company."

Ruffin raised an eyebrow. The news of _Emerald Wind's _sinking didn't seem to put Miranda in the mood for a tryst in the shower.

But seeing her standing before him, naked, he found it hard to deny her.

Plus he did have an hour to get to Camp Ogden.

They both got into the shower and lathered each other's bodies. Miranda then pressed her wet, soapy body against his and kissed him full on the mouth. She moved her lips to Ruffin's cheek, along his jawline, and then to his earlobe. Heat and desire consumed him. He started backing her up against the shower door.

"Puerto Caballo," she whispered in his ear.

He looked her in the eye, his face scrunched in puzzlement. "What?"

"Puerto Caballo. The Venezuelan naval base there."

"What about it?"

"There's been quite a bit of activity there over the last year. Lots of heavy construction equipment, new antennae going up on nearby mountains and hills."

"Any idea what they're building?"

"It looks like it's something underground. Maybe hardened shelters for their submarines, like the Soviets had for their missile subs during The Cold War. Maybe that's what they used to sink that cruise ship."

Ruffin took a couple of breaths. "Why are you telling me this? You know you can get into big trouble divulging this kind of info."

"I know. But . . . just thinking about all the people on that cruise ship." She lowered her head for a moment, then looked back up at him. "If Moscoso's responsible for this, then he's not a head of state. He's a damn murderer. He needs to be stopped. Even after something like this, who knows if President Atherton would authorize any kind of recon mission on Venezuelan soil. You and your friends on the other hand . . ."

Ruffin's jaw stiffened. Now he knew why Miranda wanted to get in the shower with him. The fan and the running water would foil any listening devices the CIA had planted in his hotel room.

"Thanks, Miranda. I guess you're not all bad." He shot her a wry grin.

She smiled back. "Just do me a favor and be careful, okay?"

"I'm always careful."

"Bullshit. You're a former special ops Marine. Taking risks is in your nature."

"Okay, that last part is true. But not the one before. There's no such thing as a former Marine. Once a Marine, always a Marine."

Miranda chuckled.

"So, do I get a good luck kiss before I go?" asked Ruffin.

Miranda smiled. She pressed her back against the shower door, put her arms around Ruffin's back and drew him to her.

"You're going to get more than a good luck kiss."

**XXXXX**

Ruffin made it to Camp Ogden with ten minutes to spare. He strode to one of the bland, rectangular buildings that dotted the base and went downstairs into a concrete bunker. Swept for bugs every few hours and with no windows for laser surveillance mikes to penetrate, the place was as secure from unwanted eyes and ears as one could get.

Instead of going straight to the conference room, Ruffin swung by the small Spartan office Briggs used here. Luckily, the CEO of Shield International was at his desk.

"Chief, can I talk to you? Privately?"

"Sure thing, Major."

Ruffin stepped inside and closed the door.

"What's on your mind?"

"A source gave me some information about the Venezuelans that might be useful, especially after what happened to that cruise ship."

"Uh-huh." Briggs leaned back in his chair. "This source wouldn't happen to be a certain lady spook you know very, _very _well?"

Ruffin clenched his teeth for a moment. "Yes, Chief."

"So what did she tell you?"

"The Venezuelans had some big construction project at Puerto Cabollo naval base. They put in a bunch of new antennae and some kind of underground facility. Maybe a hardened shelter for submarines."

"And you think her information is legitimate?" asked Briggs.

"I do."

"Did it occur to you that she might be setting us up for something?"

"I don't think she is."

Briggs sighed. "I know she meant a lot to you when you were in the Corps. But our company and hers are kind of at odds right now."

"Miranda can be a pain in our asses, Chief, but I don't believe for a second she'd steer us into some kind of set-up."

"Is that your big head talking or your little one?"

Ruffin's eyes narrowed. Anger boiled inside him.

"Relax, Major." Briggs held up both hands. "It wasn't meant as an insult. But it is something we have to consider. Shield International is an embarrassment to President Atherton, because we solve problems he doesn't have the guts to take care of himself. Imagine if some of our people are captured during an operation on Venezuelan soil. Atherton could make a case that this company is out of control, ignores national sovereignty, and is a threat to international peace. That could give him the political and legal clout to move against us and shut us down."

"I don't think he'd do that."

Briggs' eyes widened. "Really? You've seen how Atherton and his lapdogs savage their opponents."

"In politics. Spouting out insults and accusations to the media is one thing. But tipping off the Venezuelans that we might be heading their way?" Ruffin shook his head. "I don't see it. That has the potential for violence, and we both know how much Atherton hates violence. If he's gonna come after us, he'll do it with suits from the Justice Department or a warrant from the International Criminal Court."

Briggs worked his jaw left to right, mulling over Ruffin's words. "You make a good point, Major."

"In any event, I still think Puerto Cabolla is worth checking out. Remember what that chopper pilot we captured told us. The Venezuelans are planning something really big. That base may be a part of it. If that's the case, it could threaten the security of Trinidad and Tobago, maybe the entire region, if they're responsible for sinking _Emerald Wind."_

"You really think this is some secret submarine base?"

"We won't know until we check it out. I can go in with a small team and recon the place. If we see any signs of a trap, we'll pull out immediately."

Briggs stared at him in thoughtful silence for a few seconds. "How many men would you need?"

"Four will do. Myself, Gomez and Fetisov, obviously, since one's a SEAL and one's Naval Spetsnaz, and Akua."

Briggs' brow furrowed. "A paratrooper?"

"The guy's been diving since he was eleven. He had plenty of opportunity to do it growing up on a little island in the Pacific. Oh yeah, we'll probably need Cheo to pilot the Zodiac. We hit the water, swim up to shore, look around and vacate."

Briggs nodded. "Authorized. You've got two hours to give me your plan."

"Two hours? Why the rush, Chief?"

"Because we're about to have company."

"Who's coming to dinner?" Ruffin asked.

"I heard from my contacts in Washington. President Atherton has ordered the _Eisenhower _and _Truman_ carrier battle groups to this area. The 82nd Airborne is also sending a battalion here to Trinidad."

Ruffin's eyes widened in surprise. "I don't believe it. Atherton actually grew some balls."

"Don't get too excited. According to my contacts, he's doing this mainly to appease his critics who say he's soft on national security. Those troops will probably just stand around and those carriers will probably circle round the Caribbean to try and make Atherton look tough."

"Right. How stupid of me to get my hopes up about the guy."

"Anyway," Briggs said. "I want this mission to get off the ground ASAP. Those Airborne troops will be wheels up at any time, meaning the first transport will be landing at Piarco this afternoon. That's going to make our jobs a lot harder."

"Can they really interfere with us, Chief? I mean, we are working a contract with the Trinidadian government."

"I already have my lawyers looking at it. Legally, those troops don't have the authority to prevent us from operating within the borders of Trinidad and Tobago. Beyond those borders, however, is another matter, especially if they deem we're interfering with national security."

Briggs leaned forward in his chair. "Find out what's going on at Puerto Cabolla. If it's something major, we'll try and find a way to deal with it, because I don't trust President Atherton to use the US military wisely."

**XXXXX**

Ulljrex somehow kept himself from shaking his head in disgust as he watched General Moscoso's image in the monitor.

"Two, two of their carriers are coming here," the human blurted, a huge smile on his face. "Not only that, but one of their most celebrated army units will be landing on Trinidad hours from now. Can you just imagine the looks on the Americans' faces when they see their big ships and best soldiers annihilated?"

He threw his head back and laughed.

Ulljrex groaned. He found it unfathomable that an adult male should act like some human child who'd been given a new toy.

_And this man actually leads a nation._

"The carriers of the American humans should be within aircraft range of Trinidad and Tobago two days from now," Ulljrex stated. "That is when we shall send Titanosaurus to attack them."

"Good, good, good." Moscoso grinned even wider. "This is a day I have waited for for years. My predecessor did not have the balls to challenge the Americans. But I do. When we sink their carriers and kill all their elite paratroopers, it will mark the beginning of the end of the Americans."

Now Ulljrex wanted to laugh. The fool. Titanosaurus' attack on the aircraft carriers and the paratroopers would not only mark the beginning of the end of the American humans.

It would mark the beginning of the end of _all _humans.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	5. Chapter 5

Right off the bat, fate conspired against Ruffin and his mission. Weather reports indicated a severe thunderstorm was due to lash the Venezuelan coast during the evening, making diving conditions too dangerous. That meant they'd have to wait until the next night to infiltrate Puerto Caballo.

Unfortunately, they couldn't stay on Trinidad and risk the US armed forces interfering with them. So Skrag flew them out on _Duck __Soup_, a Canadair CL-215 flying boat. They landed on the shore of a small, deserted island in the Los Roques Archipelago, roughly 150 miles from their target. There they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

They passed the time going over their mission, so many times Ruffin began to dream about it when he napped. During those breaks when they didn't plan or sleep, they ate, read paperbacks, played video games, and in Gomez's case, listened to that weird new age music that he claimed relaxed him.

Ruffin also worried, as any good commander did. He worried about a passing boat or aircraft discovering them. Los Roques was Venezuelan real estate, after all. He also worried what sort of security they might find at Puerto Caballo, worried about being discovered before they could learn what the Venezuelans were up to there.

Worried about everyone making it out alive.

Day turned into night. Still they waited, until just after 2200 hours. That's when Skrag cranked the engines of _Duck __Soup._The plane sliced through the water before lifting off. Skrag flew close to the waves, below enemy radar. Ruffin and his team used the time to go over the plan again and check all their equipment.

Twenty miles from Puerto Cabolla, Skrag set down the CL-215. The plane's crew chief opened a side door and helped Ruffin and his men slip the Zodiac raft into the water and load their gear.

"Remember," Skrag said just as Ruffin settled into the raft. "You've got a six a.m. curfew. You ain't back by then, I'll tan all your hides." He shot them a toothy grin.

"If we're not back by oh-six hundred, then we're probably in deep shit," Ruffin replied.

"Ah, you'll find a way to get out of it. You special ops types are all superheroes, after all."

"Wish you told me that before I sent my blue tights and red cape to the dry cleaners," said Gomez. "Now I'm screwed."

Skrag chuckled. "Good luck, guys."

The commandoes either nodded or threw the old pilot a salute. Cheo started the engine and piloted the raft south. Already they could see tiny pinpricks of light coming from the distant naval base. Ruffin tensed as those lights grew brighter and larger. He constantly scanned around him, with both the naked eye and his small night vision scope. So did Gomez, Fetisov and Akua. All clear, so far. He prayed it stayed that way.

Five miles from Puerto Cabolla. Four miles. Three. Ruffin drew steady breaths, calming his heart rate, expunging all worry and extraneous thoughts from his head. All his focus had to be on their objective.

Two miles from the base. Ruffin pressed his nightscope to his right eye and swept the area.

That's when he spotted the stubby little boat approaching from the port side.

"Patrol boat," he warned the others. "Kill the engine. Get low."

Cheo shut off the engine. The five commandoes ducked out of sight. Nervousness twisted Ruffin's insides as they bobbed quietly in the water. The growl of the patrol boat's engine grew steadily louder.

_Don__'__t __see __us. __Don__'__t __see __us._

The noise of the boat's engine filled the air. Ruffin held his breath. He wanted to peek over the side of the Zodiac and see how close the enemy patrol boat was, but didn't dare risk any movement that might draw their attention.

The engine noise started to fade. Ruffin let out a long breath as the patrol boat moved further away.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and peered over the side. The boat – it looked like a Point-class cutter – plowed through the waves, a good quarter-mile away. It showed no sign of turning around.

Once the cutter vanished into the night, Ruffin and the others scanned the shoreline with their nightscopes, looking for a good infiltration point.

Major." Fetisov tapped him on the shoulder, then pointed to the right.

Ruffin aimed his nightscope in that direction. He held his breath for a moment when he saw it.

A huge opening stood out in the cliffs along the shore near the base. He noted its perfect, arched shape. Much too perfect to be natural.

He lowered the nightscope and turned to his men. "Well, looks like it's pretty obvious where we're gonna start our recon."

Fetisov, Gomez and Akua all nodded.

"Cheo," Ruffin said to the ex-Singapore Special Operations Forces soldier. "Pull back a mile from here. That patrol boat could be a circuit. It missed us once, but I don't feel like pushing our luck."

"Neither do I, Sir. I will do it."

Ruffin nodded, then pulled his diving goggles over his eyes and inserted his mouthpiece. After one last check of their gear, the commandoes gave each other a thumbs-up. Cheo wished them luck before they slipped over the side of the Zodiac and into the water, barely making a splash.

Ruffin gripped one of the handles of the bullet-shaped diver propulsion device, then looked to the right. Fetisov, his dive buddy, took hold of the right handle and gave him a thumbs-up. He turned around and saw Gomez and Akua holding onto the other DPD. Once they signaled they were ready, Ruffin activated the motor. The small DPD pulled him and Fetisov through the darkened water. He constantly checked the diver navigation board mounted to his wrist, making sure they were on course. He also glanced back regularly to make sure Gomez and Akua remained with them. In these dark waters it would be easy to lose sight of the other diving pair, even if they were just a few feet away.

They made it to the edge of the opening without incident. Ruffin shut off the motor to his DPD. Gomez did the same with his. The four swam the rest of the way. When they passed through the large archway, Ruffin pointed up. They poked their heads out of the water and looked around. The place was pitch black.

Ruffin pulled out his mouthpiece. "NVGs. Akua, get your camera out and start recording."

He pulled down his goggles, went into his waterproof bag and got out his monocular night vision goggles. Fetisov and Gomez did the same, while Akua retrieved a small waterproof video camera, which had night vision capability.

Ruffin switched on his NVGs, waited a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the phosphorescent green world around him, and looked around. He stifled the urge to whistle in awe. The cavern they'd entered was enormous.

It was also empty.

"Damn," Gomez said. "You could fit a Nimitz-class carrier in here. Maybe two of 'em."

"Yet they have nothing in here." Akua's tone held a trace of bafflement.

"They must keep something in here," Fetisov noted. "No one digs a hole this big without a reason."

"Maybe whatever the Venezuelans keep in here is out there." Ruffin jerked his head toward the open ocean behind them. "Maybe it's looking for more targets, if it's responsible for sinking that cruise ship."

"Or perhaps they are still awaiting delivery on whatever is supposed to be here," Fetisov suggested.

Ruffin considered that. The Venezuelans were due to acquire some Russian-built Kilo-class submarines. Well armed, very quiet, and very deadly. Such boats would tip the balance of power in the region heavily in Venezuela's favor. It would make sense to build a shelter like this for valuable assets like Kilo-class subs. It made him wonder if the sinking of the _Emerald __Wind_ had been a test of their capabilities.

Something niggled the back of Ruffin's mind. He scanned the immense cavern again. A catwalk ran down each side, installed roughly two feet above the water. Other than that, there was nothing. No docks or cranes or fuel tanks. No facilities of any kind needed to support a small fleet of submarines.

He tread water, wondering what to do next. Wait here for whatever called this place home to return? How long would that be?

They could explore this facility. The big worry with that was the security. He completely agreed with Fets. You don't carve out a cavern this big unless you plan on putting something important in it. Like vital to national security important. Ruffin had to assume the Venezuelans had cameras set up in here. If they climbed onto the catwalk they'd be spotted in an instant, then they were screwed. Not only them, but Shield International as well. Four members of a private military contractor caught spying on a sovereign nation would bring down the kind of legal trouble that could destroy the company.

He hated going home empty handed, but to proceed without better intelligence was too risky. They at least learned the Venezuelans must be storing something of importance here. Maybe they could come back a second time and set up some sort of surveillance to see what exactly –

A bright white line appeared up high on the cavern wall to Ruffin's right. His head snapped toward it. The line grew larger, taking the shape of a window.

"Crap." He turned to the catwalk opposite from the window and ordered the others to swim there. They gathered underneath it, bobbing in the water as Ruffin stared at the fully revealed window. Three figures stood in front of it.

Floodlights snapped on throughout the cavern. Ruffin shut his eyes as his NVGs flared like a brilliant white sun. He pulled the device up to the top of his head and blinked, trying to readjust his vision.

"Maybe now we can find out what the hell they have in here," said Gomez. "Make this trip worthwhile."

Ruffin grunted in acknowledgment, blinking rapidly, trying to rid the multi-colored dots swirling in his eyes. He'd just about succeeded when Akua muttered, "Oh my God."

"What is it?" he turned to the ex-Legionnaire, who aimed his camera at the window.

"You're not going to believe this. General Moscoso is up there."

"What?" Ruffin blurted.

"Are you shittin' me?" added Gomez.

"See for yourself." Akua handed Ruffin the camera. He held it up and pointed it at the window. Surprise flared inside him when he spotted General Moscoso. A tingle of excitement and dread raced up his spine. If the _el __Presidente _of Venezuela was here, something big had to be going on.

Two other men flanked Moscoso. Ruffin assumed them to be bodyguards until he noticed their features. They looked more Asian than South American. Brow furrowed, he zoomed in more. The two didn't wear suits or fatigues as he'd expect of a bodyguard. Instead they dressed in a gleaming, all-silver bodysuit.

Something churned in his brain. Stories he'd read, documentaries he'd watched, on one of the most unbelievable battles in human history. He called up the description of the enemy.

More specifically, how that enemy appeared in disguise.

"It can't be."

"What's that, Sir?" Akua asked.

"You notice the two jagoffs with Moscoso?"

"Yes. They're probably bodyguards."

"I don't think so. This may sound crazy, but I think those two are Simbaaku."

"What?" Gomez blurted. "No friggin' way."

"Simbaaku? Those aliens that built Mechagodzilla?" Akua tilted his head. "I thought Godzilla and the Japanese killed them all."

"Well, it looks like they might've missed a couple of them."

"General Moscoso working with aliens," said Fetisov. "This cannot be good."

Ruffin snorted. "Fets, this is so the opposite of good."

A grinding sound filled the air. All four turned their heads toward the end of the cavern. The huge rock wall rose.

"Akua." Ruffin handed the camera back to him. "Keep that camera trained on whatever comes out of there."

"Yes, Sir."

The rock wall rose higher. Ruffin's heart hammered in his chest. His stomach tightened. What the hell was in there? With the Simbaaku involved, he seriously doubted this cavern was designed to house submarines.

Two enormous yellow eyes glowed in the tunnel. The light that flooded into it revealed a snout with sharp teeth and an orange fin running down the back of its neck.

Ruffin shivered, his gaze locked on the monster emerging from the tunnel.

The deafening roar blasted through the cavern, drilling into his ears. He clenched his teeth.

The monster crawled forward and slid into the water. It surged forward, kicking up a huge wake.

"Oh shit. Everyone back. Brace yourselves."

Ruffin kicked under the water until he found his back pressed against the rock wall under the catwalk. Fetisov, Gomez and Akua quickly joined him. Ruffin pressed one hand against the bottom of the catwalk, and tightened his grip on the DPD with the other.

The reptilian head and long neck passed by. For a panic-filled moment, he feared the monster had spotted them. Visions of a gigantic hand crushing him filled his head. Would he feel any pain? Would it be mercifully quick? Another shiver went through him. Miranda's face appeared in his mind's eye.

But the monster continued on. Ruffin's relief, though, was short-lived as a barrage of waves rushed toward them.

"Hold on!" He took a breath, as did the others.

The water rose and swallowed him. It pushed him up toward the bottom of the catwalk. Ruffin pressed his palm against it as hard as he could to keep his head from cracking against it.

Another wave surged over him. Another, another. Each one nearly sent him tumbling.

A minute later, the waves diminished. Ruffin poked his head out of the water and took a gulp of air. He quickly scanned the cavern.

The monster had disappeared.

"Fets! Gomez! Akua!" He whipped his head left to right.

Fetisov and Gomez bobbed in the water. He was about to call out Akua's name again when the Nauruan surfaced.

"You okay?" Ruffin asked.

"Fine, Sir." He gave him a thumbs-up for good measure.

"You still got the camera?"

Akua lifted his right hand out of the water and showed him the little camera. "Right here. I had a good shot of that monster. I swear that had to be Titanosaurus."

"It sure as hell looked like him," said Gomez. "But I thought Godzilla killed him over thirty years ago."

"So did I." Ruffin glanced up at the window. Moscoso and the two Simbaaku remained in front of it. If those aliens escaped the final battle in Japan all those years ago, maybe they recovered Titanosaurus' body and regenerated it. If they had the technology to cross the galaxy and build a giant robot version of Godzilla, surely they had a way to revive a monster that was near death.

Dread filled his soul. He recalled the documentaries he'd watched on the Simbaaku attacks on Earth, thought of all the cities devastated by Titanosaurus.

Now, thirty years later, it was about to happen again.

"C'mon. We gotta tell The Chief about this."

Ruffin and Fetisov gripped the DPD and motored out of the cavern, followed by Gomez and Akua. When they got two miles away from the base, they surfaced, with Ruffin radioing Cheo that they were coming in.

"I will guide you in by IR flashlight," the Singaporean told him.

Ruffin and the others slid their NVGs over their eyes. A small white blob of light flickered in the distance. They reactivated their DPDs and headed toward the beam of the infra-red flashlight.

"You might think I'm crazy," Cheo said as the four commandoes climbed into the Zodiac. "But I swear I saw a large fin pass by here roughly fifteen minutes ago."

"Well while you saw the fin, we saw the whole damn thing," Gomez said. "Ready for this. It was Titanosaurus."

Cheo's eyes widened as he leaned forward. "Titanosaurus? Are you sure? I thought he was killed by Godzilla."

"Well, he got better." Ruffin stripped off his rebreather. "Get us back to _Duck __Soup_ ASAP."

"Yes, Sir." Cheo started the motor, turned the raft around and headed north toward the flying boat.

Ruffin dug into his equipment bag and pulled out his secure satellite phone. He dialed the number for Briggs' cell.

"Major Ruffin?" his boss answered, sounding like he'd just woken up.

"Yes, Sir. We just finished our recon of Puerto Cabolla. We found out what the Venezuelans are keeping there."

"Submarines?"

Ruffin frowned. "I wish."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hell of a way to get started._

Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Tom Dunston let out a long breath as he stared at the mirror in his cabin onboard the _USS Eisenhower. _The carrier strike group – _his _carrier strike group – had barely been at sea a week when they'd been ordered to Trinidad and Tobago. The fear at the Pentagon was that General Moscoso finally lost what little sanity he possessed and blew up a cruise ship and more than a thousand civilians. Dunston didn't even get a chance to get his feet wet as carrier strike group commander and already they had him in the middle of an international crisis.

_This is what you wanted, isn't it? _This was why he'd worked so hard to become an air group commander, then executive officer, then captain of his own carrier. He'd put in time at the Naval War College, even let his marriage disintegrate, just so he could one day command his own carrier strike group. More than half-a-dozen ships, nearly a hundred aircraft, roughly 7,000 men and women. All under his command.

And now he was leading them into harm's way.

Dunston shook off the worries. He'd led sailors and airmen in crisis situations. In the First Gulf War, Bosnia, Afghanistan, the Iraq War. Granted, he'd never led them in a force this big. But it shouldn't be too difficult. Even the great Chinese military strategist Sun Tzu once said, "The control of a large force is the same in principle as the control of a few men. It is merely a question of dividing up their numbers."

He could do this. If he didn't want to be in the thick of the action, he would have tried to get some cushy job at the Pentagon and spend his days reading reports and playing golf.

No, Dunston was where he needed to be, where he _wanted _to be. If the Venezuelans wanted to try anything, as a famous wrestler once said, they could, "Just bring it!" His one carrier strike group had enough firepower to annihilate the entire Venezuelan navy and air force, and have plenty let over to hit their major bases and command and control facilities.

He checked out his stocky frame in the mirror, patting his gut. His paunch had gotten a little bigger over the past couple of months. Time to start hitting the gym, and the _Ike _had a gym as good as any civilian health club.

Dunston got a towel from the head, grabbed his gym bag, and walked for the hatch.

That's when the phone near his bed rang.

"Yes?" he answered it.

"Sir, it's Captain Patterson," came the baritone voice the group's sea combat commander. "We've received a message from the _Bradley."_ He referred to the _Robert G. Bradley, _their anti-submarine warfare frigate. "They've picked up a large sonar contact headed our way."

"Submarine?"

"Unknown, Sir."

"All right. I'm on my way to CIC."

Dunston hung up the phone and quickly changed into his uniform. He strode through the metal corridors, adrenaline surging through his veins. Something was about to go down, he could feel it.

"Admiral on deck," announced Patterson, a stout, intense-looking black man, as Dunston entered the red lit Combat Information Center.

"At ease," Dunston replied as he glanced around the multitude of consoles and wall monitors. "Report."

"_Bradley _is currently tracking an unknown sub-surface contact, twenty-five miles west of our position and closing."

Dunston nodded. "Sound general quarters throughout the battle group. Get _Bradley's _commander on the horn."

The klaxon blared through the CIC, along with the announcement. "General quarters, general quarters. All personnel, man your battle stations. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill."

Dunston looked up at one of the HD monitors on the bulkhead of the CIC, noting the disposition of his strike group. Currently they had two combat air patrols up, each with a pair of F/A-18 Super Hornets. Two ASW Seahawk helicopters also prowled the sea around them. His gaze moved to another monitor, this one linked to an E-2C Hawkeye AWACS plane. Its APS-145 radar covered the air space all the way down to Venezuela. The few aircraft they had up did not venture past the coastline. He also didn't see any Venezuelan navy vessels within striking distance.

"Admiral." Patterson handed him a phone.

He took it and put it to his ear. "Admiral Dunston here."

"Sir, Captain Haddock," replied the skipper of the _Bradley._

"What can you tell me about this sub-surface contact?"

"We're still trying to identify it. Our estimates put it between seventy and eighty meters."

Dunston nodded. "That sounds like a sub to me. Have you identified the type?"

"That's the thing, Admiral. Sonar isn't picking up any kind of engine noises. Not only that, but it's traveling upwards of fifty knots."

"Fifty knots?" Dunston made no attempt to keep the surprise out of his voice. No submarine on Earth could travel that fast. "Are you sure?"

"Positive, Admiral. One of our Seahawks is en route to intercept. I can patch through an audio and video feed to your CIC."

"Do it."

"Yes, Sir."

Within seconds a shot of the ocean from the Forward-Looking Infra-Red nose camera of _Bradley's _ Seahawk helicopter appeared on one of the CIC's monitors.

"Feed received. Thank you, Captain. Dunston out."

He hung up the phone and watched green-hued water flash by on the monitor.

"Sonobouys deployed," radioed the pilot. "Sorrento, you got anything?"

Dunston presumed the pilot was talking to one of the sensor operators.

"Contact bearing one-six-five. Speed fifty knots. Torpedoes armed and ready to fire."

Dunston scowled for a second, cursing the rules of engagement set by Washington. They couldn't fire unless fired upon, no matter how threatening their opponent looked. And right now, this looked like a very threatening opponent.

"Contact approaching the surface," reported the sensor operator. "Forty meters . . . thirty meters . . . twenty. My God, this thing is big."

"Is it a sub?"

"Negative. No sounds of ballast tanks blowing. I'm picking . . . something."

"Be more specific, Sorrento," the pilot demanded.

"I don't know. Some kind of high-pitched noise. Can't make out -"

The water exploded beneath the Seahawk.

Several gasps echoed through the CIC. Dunston's eyes widened when he saw the reptilian head filling the camera. An angry, trumpeting roar blasted over the speakers.

"Oh my God!" cried the pilot. "Oh my-"

The image shook, then turned to static.

**XXXXX**

Ulljrex let a smile creep across his human mask. Elation filled him as he looked upon the floating three dimensional image of Titanosaurus and the US fleet, compiled by the small nanobot sensors that laced the monster's hide.

"There!" General Moscoso shouted behind him. "There's one of their ships. Sink it! Kill the damn Americans."

Even Moscoso's usual overdramatic yelling couldn't spoil his mood. How could it? He was about to kill humans. A lot of humans.

Ulljrex tapped a few of the touch sensitive screens on his panel. He watched as Titanosaurus let out another roar and propelled through the sea. Just a handful of human miles away sailed one of the Americans' knife-like ships, its center dominated by superstructures and communications and sensor masts. Titanosaurus' sensors identified it. The _USS Robert G. Bradley, _an Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigate.

The ship turned right as Titanosaurus approached. Puffs of smoke erupted all along its length. Tracers and shells from its Phalanx gatling guns and 76mm cannon streaked through the air. Clouds of orange and black burst across Titanosaurus' body.

The monster didn't slow down.

The _Bradley _continued its barrage, even as Titanosaurus towered over it. It unleashed a roar and brought down a massive, clawed hand. The _Bradley _snapped in two like a twig. Titanosaurus swiped at it again. The superstructure exploded into metal splinters. A third strike resulted in a fireball tearing through the ruined ship's fore section. Probably munitions detonating.

"Yes, Titanosaurus!" Ulljrex shook a triumphant fist in front of him, while Moscoso roared with laughter. "Forward. Destroy the rest of the human ships."

"The carrier!" Moscoso shouted. "I wanted to see their precious carrier ripped to pieces."

"It will happen soon enough, General." Ulljrex didn't look at the human. All his attention was on Titanosaurus as he plowed through the sea.

Four dots appeared in the air. F/A-18 Hornet fighters. Jet-propelled, restricted to inside the atmosphere, a top speed of around Mach Two.

He laughed inwardly at the thought humans considered these things advanced.

Fiery orange trails shot out from under the Hornets' wings. Harpoon anti-ship missiles, all headed for Titanosaurus. The human planes banked away from the approaching monster. The six missiles neared Titanosaurus, who just roared and continued through the water.

Fireballs blossomed across the monster's chest. It let out an angry roar and continued forward.

The Hornets circled round, diving and firing their cannons. Tracers struck Titanosaurus' head and neck. It roared again and lunged into the air, lashing out with its arm. One of the Hornets shattered into a thousand little pieces.

The _Eisenhower _lay just a few miles away. More missiles streaked through the air, Tomahawks and Harpoons from the cruiser _Normandy _and the destroyer _Forrest Sherman._ More fireballs exploded lit up Titanosaurus' body. Ulljrex guided him toward the _Normandy_. The cruiser launched more missiles and fired every gun it had. He quickly scanned a sensor readout. What little damage the human weapons caused was quickly repaired by the nanobots.

Ulljrex smiled, then ordered Titanosaurus to halt.

"Why did he stop?" blurted Moscoso. "Keep going! Destroy that ship!"

"He will, General. But this time, we will give the humans a surprise. We will show them a weapon Titanosaurus did not have the last time they saw him."

Ulljrex ordered the monster to raise its right arm and aim it at the _Normandy._ It continued to fire its missiles and guns, to no avail. He smiled and tapped one of the control screens.

Three of Titanosaurus' talons shot off his fingers, just like the claw missiles of Mechagodzilla. While they contained no explosive warheads, the electromagnetic currents generated by the nanobots propelled them forward at speeds in excess of Mach Ten.

The front half of _Normandy_ completely disintegrated. An evil, flaming cloud of orange and black consumed what remained of the cruiser as its missiles and shells detonated.

Ulljrex softly chuckled, imagining the fear the humans must be feeling right now. One of their most advanced warships had been annihilated in the blink of an eye. For a moment, he expected the remaining vessels to turn and run away.

Not that he would let them escape.

But that didn't happen. The destroyer _Forrest Sherman_ kept up its attack, firing guns and launching missiles. Titanosaurus roared and swung round to face it. The nanobots had already constructed new talons to replace the ones that had been fired. Those new ones flashed through the air and tore apart the _Sherman._

Ulljrex sent out another command, guiding Titanosaurus east, toward its primary target. The _USS Eisenhower._

**XXXXX**

Dunston wanted to run, and scream, even cry. Never in his life had he been so scared. The missiles and Triple A fired at him in the Gulf War and over Bosnia was nothing compared to the unstoppable monster he saw on the monitor.

Another Harpoon fired from an F/A-18 hit Titanosaurus' shoulder and exploded. The monster barely noticed it.

Tremors of terror raced up Dunston's legs, then took over the rest of his body. Sweat covered his face. He looked around at the other personnel in the CIC. More than a few had ceased their duties and gaped at the monitor as Titanosaurus drew closer to the _Eisenhower._

"Are we still transmitting all this to Southern Command?" he asked, hoping to get the men and women in here to refocus on their jobs, and to try and shove aside his fear.

"Yes, Sir," Patterson answered.

"Good. Alert all aircraft and weapons operators. Tell them to aim for Titanosaurus' eyes. Maybe we can blind the ugly bastard."

"Yes, Sir." Patterson's response didn't sound as confident as Dunston would have liked. Then again, he seriously doubted that would work. But better to do something with a slim chance of success than just sit here and wait to die.

A sleek, knife-shaped vessel crossed in front of Titanosaurus' path. The _Mahan, _and Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, and the last surface escort of the _Eisenhower _group still afloat. Fiery contrails rose from its missile launchers and arced over toward the monster. Flashes from numerous guns flickered up and down _Mahan's_ length. Tracers and explosions peppered Titanosaurus. A few struck its head. The monster shook it off kept going.

Dunston swallowed. How could this be possible? Titanosaurus had died more than 30 years ago, killed by Godzilla.

He then remembered how the alien Simbaaku had controlled the monster. Could they have returned and resurrected Titanosaurus? If so, what did that mean for the world?

Horrified gasps ripped through the CIC. Dunston watched as Titanosaurus reached down and grabbed the _Mahan. _He then lifted it out of the water. Dunston expected the monster to crush it in his hands, as easily as a man would crush an empty tissue box.

Instead it held on to the destroyer and made a beeline toward the _Eisenhower._

Dunston stood silent. What orders could he issue? _Ike _was already at its top speed of 31 knots. The carrier was launching a steady stream of Sea Sparrow and RIM-116 surface-to-air missiles at Titanosaurus. Not that they did any good.

The beast kept coming. Three hundred meters. Two hundred. One hundred. It continued to hold the _Mahan._

Dunston clutched the back of the nearest chair, steadying himself as his legs shook. He wished he had the chance to call his son and daughter and apologize for being such a neglectful father.

Titanosaurus swam alongside the _Eisenhower. _It lifted the destroyer it carried over its head and roared.

Dunston closed his eyes.

_I failed._

**XXXXX**

Ulljrex chuckled as Titanosaurus brought down the destroyer and used it to impale the _Eisenhower._ The pointed bow smashed through the flight deck. Titanosaurus drove it deeper into the bowels of the carrier. Gushers of flame shot up from both ships as fuel and missiles and shells exploded. Enormous gashes spread across the _Eisenhower. _More explosions went off. The carrier broke in two, its bow and stern both rising in the air.

General Moscoso howled with laughter. For once, Ulljrex didn't mind.

"See!" the human screamed. "See! You Americans thought you were invincible. I have proven you are not. All your great ships were smashed as easily as I could crush a grape."

Ulljrex growled to himself. _You have proven, General?_ All the mud-sucking human had done was stand around and scream and laugh like a lunatic. He and his fellow Simbaaku had destroyed the American ships. Without them, Moscoso would be another so-called human leader making boastful speeches without the power to back them up.

Once the shattered remains of _Eisenhower _and _Mahan _slipped beneath the water, Ulljrex guided Titanosaurus fifty miles north, where the _Truman _carrier strike group sailed. No doubt warned of the monster by the doomed _Eisenhower _group,_ Truman's _escort ships formed a defensive line to protect the fleeing carrier. They bombarded Titanosaurus with missiles and shells, aided by squadrons of F/A-18 Hornets.

Titanosaurus smashed through them all. He eventually caught up to _Truman_ and tore apart the carrier.

Moscoso went crazy with joy. Ulljrex even found himself laughing louder than before. As he gazed at the wreckage of the _Truman_ group, and thought about the _Eisenhower_ group's destruction, he recalled a witticism he came across during his research on human culture. "What do you call a hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start."

If a hundred humans at the bottom of the ocean was a good start, then 14,000 had to be a very, very good start.

_But it is just a start._

Ulljrex sent another signal to Titanosaurus. The monster dove under the water and swam south.

Toward Trinidad and Tobago.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	7. Chapter 7

Ruffin watched Titanosaurus stomp through Tokyo. Skyscrapers shattered, debris tumbled to the streets. Smaller buildings were smashed beneath the monster's huge feet.

_Why Tokyo?_ Ruffin thought, feeling detached as he observed the rampage. Tokyo was on the other side of the world. Shouldn't Titanosaurus be attacking someplace closer?

Silver, manta-shaped spaceships filled the sky. They spat out blue laser beams. Buildings burst into flames. Ruffin wanted to do something, wanted to fight back. Instead he stood frozen.

"John?"

He turned around. Miranda stood nearby, a concerned look on her face. He tried to go to her. Again, he was frozen.

A fireball burst in front of him. Miranda vanished.

Ruffin opened his mouth, wanting to scream out her name. Silence.

"Ruff. Hey, Ruff."

His eyes snapped open. The carnage around him disappeared, replaced by the darkened interior of _Duck Soup. _Skrag's bearded face hovered above him.

_Damn nightmare. _He groaned and rubbed his face, wondering if that nightmare would soon become a reality.

"What is it?" he asked Skrag.

"The Chief's on the horn. He wants to talk to you. We got some super serious mega-shit goin' down."

Tension coiled around Ruffin's insides. He didn't bother to ask who, or what, was responsible for the "super serious mega-shit."

He followed Skrag to the cockpit, where the co-pilot, Dave Underwood, flew the sea plane. Ruffin picked up a headset and put it on.

"Ruffin here, Chief."

"Major, I'm afraid I've got some bad news."

Ruffin held his breath as the CEO of Shield International continued. "We lost the _Eisenhower _and _Truman _carrier battle groups."

His eyes widened. "Lost them? They were destroyed?"

"Affirmative. Titanosaurus took them out. SAR units are just arriving on the scene, but it looks like the death toll is going to exceed ten thousand."

A chill went up and down his body. Ten thousand sailors and brother Marines. Dead. Just like that. All of them part of the most powerful naval force in history.

A force that could do nothing to stop Titanosaurus.

Ruffin closed his eyes, shunting the numbing fear from his mind. His brain started working again. "The cruise ship. Titanosaurus must have destroyed that, too. Chief, you think the Simbaaku and the Venezuelans did that to lure our battle groups here to wipe them out?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"Were they able to hurt Titanosaurus?"

"Not that I'm aware of. From what I can determine, it took them completely by surprise?"

Ruffin's brow furrowed. "But you warned the Pentagon. You showed them the footage we sent you from Puerto Caballo." He had uploaded it to Shield International's operations center at Camp Ogden just minutes after he and his team returned to _Duck Soup._

"I tried. The furthest I got was some dipshit aide to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He accused us of using CGI effects and cut me off."

"Friggin' wonderful."

"Remember, we aren't very popular in Washington."

That made Ruffin steam. Thanks to the Pentagon's damn prejudice against Shield International, two carrier battle groups and ten thousand US servicemen and women were at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea.

"Any idea where Titanosaurus is now?"

Briggs paused, a pause that made worry bubble inside Ruffin. "One of the submarines attached to the battle groups tracked it heading toward Trinidad, before Titanosaurus took it out."

Ruffin fought to keep fear from overwhelming him. "What are we doing to get ready for it?"

"The Eighty-Second Airborne is setting up a perimeter to the east of Port of Spain. But it's an infantry battalion. The heaviest weapons they have are anti-tank missiles and mortars."

"Yeah. Like those are gonna do anything to Titanosaurus."

"I know," Briggs said. "I've got our air wing armed and ready to go when Titanosaurus makes landfall."

"I hate to say this, Chief, but if our carrier battle groups couldn't knock out Titanosaurus, I doubt a bunch of old fighter jets and bombers are gonna do any better."

"I agree. The best we can hope for is that we buy time for the Trinidad and Tobago Regiment and police to evacuate as many people from Port of Spain as possible."

Ruffin clenched his jaw. Fifty-seven thousand people lived in the capital, with just as many commuters and tourists. They'd be lucky to get a couple thousand out of the city before that damn monster showed up.

"What do you want us to do?" Ruffin asked.

"Sergeant Jellicoe will be waiting for you at the port when you land. Help him and the Regiment with evacuation efforts."

"Yes, Sir." He frowned for a moment. Much as he'd rather be in the middle of the fight, he knew the weapons he and his team had wouldn't even annoy Titanosaurus. Right now the only useful thing they could do was help people get the hell out of Port of Spain.

When Briggs signed off, Ruffin remained in the cockpit, his hands gripping the backs of pilot's and co-pilot's seats. He held his breath, his thoughts turning to one person in particular in Port of Spain.

Reaching into his combat vest, he pulled out the satellite phone. Ruffin knew a personal call on a secure SATPHONE was a violation of Shield International protocol.

_Screw it._ He dialed the number he knew by heart.

"Miranda Quintero."

"Miranda, it's John."

"John? Where are you?"

"Better you not know. I take it you heard about Titanosaurus."

"Yes. Our latest estimates have him coming ashore in less than two hours."

"Are you still in Port of Spain?" Ruffin asked.

"Yes."

"Then get the hell out of there. Now."

"I can't. Orders from Langley. They want us to remain here and observe Titanosaurus' attack."

"What the hell for?"

"To analyze its behavior, maybe find any weaknesses."

"For God's sake, Miranda. The analysts back at Langley can do that by looking at the footage from the Japan attack thirty years ago. Titanosaurus took out two of our carrier battle groups like that. That thing is gonna level Port of Spain. You and the rest of your people need to get out now."

"Even if we wanted to, we couldn't. The streets are jammed with people trying to leave the city."

Ruffin felt his stomach plunge into a black hole of dread. "Then promise me if that thing gets too close, you'll find someplace to hole up. A basement, a bomb shelter. Someplace."

"I will. What about you?"

"The Chief wants me and my team to help the Defense Force with evacuations."

A pause. "Be careful, John. I . . . just be careful."

He swallowed, wanting to say something, the words frozen on his tongue. All he could get out was, "You, too."

**XXXXX**

"Damn, would you look at that," Skrag said an hour later as _Duck Soup_ approached the capital's port.

Underwood leaned forward in the co-pilot's seat. "Jeez, it looks like a zoo down there."

Skrag glanced at the port as _Duck Soup _descended. Thousands of people crowded the waterfront. A line of figures in green and brown fatigues stood between them and the docks. Members of the Trinidad and Tobago Regiment, he assumed. A fleet of boats large and small either sailed into the Caribbean Sea or sat near the docks as people scrambled on them. Fishing boats, yachts, cargo ships, speedboats. Anything that could float, the Trinidadians used to get people the Hell out of Dodge.

He frowned, wondering how many would still be stuck here when Titanosaurus showed up.

Skrag set _Duck Soup _down in the water and guided her to an open dock. He kept the engines idling, since he had to fly to the airport where _Sky Bitch _was as soon as he offloaded Ruff and his boys. He twisted around in his seat and saw the crew chief open the side door.

"You guys be safe out there."

Ruff turned to him. "Us? You're the one painting a target on your ass for Titanosaurus. You be safe."

Skrag opened his mouth, ready for one of his usual wisecracks. None came to mind.

_What the hell's wrong with me?_

Again, he tried to think of some cool retort. He found it hard to do so when he saw so many scared and desperate people out the cockpit windows.

"We'll do what we can to keep that big dumb lizard busy. You just get as many people out of here as you can."

"You got it." Ruffin gave him a thumbs-up and exited the plane. Fetisov, Gomez and Akua followed, each one wishing him good luck.

The crew chief was about to close the door when a soldier boarded the plane, one Skrag recognized. It was Sergeant Jellicoe, the Regiment's liaison with Shield International.

"Mister Skrag. I was told you are headed to the airport."

"That's right, Sarge. Gotta get _Sky Bitch_ in the air and barbecue some big-ass iguana."

"Then I must ask that you take some civilians with you. There are still some evacuation flights that have not yet left Piarco."

Skrag agreed. Jellicoe left, then came back with twenty children ranging in age from six to thirteen. All of them looked terrified or confused, or both. A pang of sympathy went through Skrag. His thoughts turned to his four children. Sure they were all grown now, but he still remembered back to when they were younger and completely dependent on their parents. Well, mainly on whichever woman they called mom. There were three of them, after all.

True, he'd never win a Father of the Year Award, but that didn't mean he didn't care about children.

Once they got _Duck Soup_ in the air, he turned the plane over to Underwood and went back in the cabin with the kids. He tried to get them to sing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird." The kids had a very hard time doing it, but so what? It helped get their minds off the current situation.

When they landed at Piarco International Airport, Skrag handed off the kids to an attendant from Caribbean Airlines. He, Underwood and the crew chief then hurried to the area of the airport where Shield International kept its aircraft. His brow furrowed when he saw his fellow pilots bunched together in a group. A line of soldiers stood between them and their aircraft. Not Trinidadian soldiers. US soldiers. 82nd Airborne.

"What the crap?" Skrag muttered as he spotted Zelaya near the rear of the group. "Yo, Z-Man! Da'hell's goin' on here?"

The Honduran pilot turned to him. "The Americans. They won't let us get to our planes."

"What?" Skrag made his way to the front of the group. A few feet away stood half-a-dozen paratroopers clutching M-4 carbines. At the head of the squad was a short, fit-looking kid with pale skin who couldn't have been more than 23. The nametag read MCGLOTHEN. Skrag spotted the gold bars on his collar. A second lieutenant, the bottom rung on the officer's ladder.

"There a problem here, Lieutenant McGlothen?"

"Orders, Sir. My platoon is to prevent you from boarding your aircraft."

Skrag folded his arms. "I don't think you have the authority for that, son. We're working for the government of Trinidad and Tobago, not Uncle Sam."

"According to US Southern Command, you're still an American-based company, therefore subject to American laws. As such, we can't allow you to interfere with a US military operation."

"Screw orders! There's a big freakin' killer dinosaur controlled by aliens on its way here. You need every damn thing that goes boom you can muster."

"Sorry, Sir. I have my orders." McGlothen clenched his jaw and shifted his gaze to the ground, as though uncomfortable explaining his orders.

Skrag opened his mouth to say something else when Zelaya put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Tombstone left here a little while ago. He said he'll fix this."

"How?"

"I think we're about to find out," said Marko Eder, Tombstone's backseater, as he pointed to the sky.

Skrag saw a Trinidad and Tobago Defense Forces Eurocopter AS355 descending. The chopper with the bulbous fuselage landed nearby, and out stepped Tombstone, clad in his flightsuit, cowboy hat, boots and hip holster with a replica Peacemaker revolver. The German wore a huge shit-eating grin as he strode up to them.

"What are you smilin' about?" Skrag asked.

Tombstone didn't answer. He just marched up to McGlothen, tipped his hat and handed him a piece of paper. "_Guten tag, _Lieutenant. This is for you, courtesy of President Wheeler."

Skrag's eyes widened. President Wheeler? As in the President of Trinidad and Tobago?

McGlothen held the paper in both hands and read it. Skrag sidled up next to him and scanned it. The more he read, the more his smile widened.

The letter had three paragraphs. The first granted immediate Trinidadian citizenship to all members of the Shield International air wing. The second pressed them, their aircraft and all associated equipment into service with the Trinidad and Tobago Air Guard. The final paragraph authorized them to use "all means at their disposal to defend the nation against any hostile actions by the Venezuelans and their allies."

The bottom of the letter bore the signature of President Wheeler.

Skrag patted McGlothen on the shoulder. "Looks pretty official to me, son, huh?"

McGlothen turned to him. Skrag expected the kid throw a fit and stomp off to contact his superiors, since Second Lueys couldn't wipe their asses without orders from higher up.

Instead, McGlothen turned to his men and showed them the letter. "This is an official letter from President Wheeler of Trinidad. These men are now members of this nation's Defense Forces. We have no authority over them. Stand down."

The paratroopers obeyed.

"Good luck, Sirs." McGlothen nodded and walked away with his men, looking relieved, even a bit glad. Skrag wondered if the kid thought his orders - which he had no doubt came from Asshole Atherton in the White House – were bullshit.

Tombstone turned to the pilots. "All right, pardners. Let's saddle up and hit the sky."

Ten minutes later, two of Shield International's F-4 Phantoms rocketed into the air. Skrag had taxied his B-25, _Sky Bitch_, onto the runway when he received word from their command and control plane, _Eclipse._

Titanosaurus had come ashore near Sangre Grande, just 25 miles east of the airport.

Skrag drew a deep breath. Tension crept up his back. This was gettin' really real.

Minutes later _Sky Bitch _was airborne. He'd barely been in the wild blue for two minutes when he saw Titanosaurus beyond the forests and fields and villages stretching toward the horizon. The monster grew larger by the second. Underwood made the sign of the cross and muttered a prayer.

Skrag felt fear rise in him. His arms shook for a few moments until he got them under control. This wasn't the first time he'd been in a hairy situation.

Of course, none of those other hairy situations involved a giant monster.

"All AGM capable aircraft," Tombstone radioed, using the acronym for air-to-ground missile. "Establish lock on target."

"Let's try to hit it in its ugly face," Skrag suggested. "Maybe we can blind the son-of-a-bitch."

Tombstone paused a few moments before responding. "Do it."

Skrag activated two of the RBS-15 anti-ship missiles in the bomb bay.

"Good tone," he radioed.

More voices repeated the words in his headphones.

"Fire!" Tombstone hollered.

Skrag hit the fire button. The B-25 rose slightly as the two 1,763-pound Swedish-made missiles fell away from the bomb bay. Moments later over a dozen contrails streaked toward Titanosaurus. Skrag tensed and watched the missiles quickly eat up the distance.

Fireballs burst across the monster's face and neck. It stumbled back, flailing its arms.

"Yeah! Take that, you ugly bastard!"

Titanosaurus turned away, smoke rising from its face. The monster didn't go down, but it was stunned. It'd probably need a couple of minutes to recover. Every minute they could slow it down meant more people Ruffin and the others could evacuate from Port of Spain.

"Come around for second attack," ordered Tombstone.

Skrag twisted the wheel around as Underwood prepped two more RBS-15s. Titanosaurus rocked its head back and forth, as though shaking out the cobwebs.

He straightened out _Sky Bitch, _waiting for Underwood to report a good lock.

Titanosaurus turned its back to the approaching aircraft. For a fleeting moment, Skrag wondered, even hoped, that the monster would jump back into the sea and swim away.

Instead, it swung its body back and forth.

"What the hell is it doing?" asked Underwood.

"No idea."

Something struck _Sky Bitch. _Tremors rocked theold twin-engine bomber.

"Shit!" Skrag clenched his teeth and gripped the wheel. Vibrations raced up his arms. The plane rocked left and right. He felt like he was trapped inside a giant baby rattle.

Titanosaurus continued to swing back and forth, its tail high in the air. That's when Skrag noticed the large fin on the tip of the monster's tail. His throat tightened, remembering the images from thirty years ago of that tailfin generating hurricane-force winds that ripped apart whole sections of Tokyo.

He pushed the throttle to full military power, trying to plow through the windstorm. The never-ending quake threw the B-25 in all directions. Skrag glanced Zelaya's stubby A-37 attack jet tumbling end over end. One of the F4U Corsairs flipped over on its back and plowed into the ground, sending up a fireball.

Skrag couldn't think about that. All his focus was on trying to control _Sky Bitch _so –

A horrific, metallic tearing sound filled the plane. An invisible force yanked it hard to the right. Skrag bellowed as he fought to straighten out the bomber.

Something flashed by the windscreen. He suddenly fell silent as he watched most of the left wing spiral out of sight.

Skrag's body immediately went cold. His grip on the wheel slackened as _Sky Bitch_ heaved further to the right. What was the point? No plane could fly on one wing.

He shivered uncontrollably. _I still have too much living to do._

Skrag glanced down at the handle for his ejection seat. He was about to grab it, then stopped. Any parachute would get mangled by those winds.

_Sky Bitch _flipped over. Underwood screamed. Skrag closed his eyes. Tears trickled down his cheeks when he felt one final thump.

**XXXXX**

"Please, I'm begging you. Let me leave."

"I'm only twenty-one! I can't die!"

"Look. Look. This is a Rolex. Worth ten thousand dollars. It's yours if you get me on that ship."

"Women and children first!" Ruffin stated for what he felt had to be the ten thousandth time to the pleading men in the crowd. He gripped his G36 rifle tighter as he, his team and the Trinidad and Tobago Regiment maintained their human barrier. Behind him, evacuees streamed up the gangplank to the _Van Speijk_, a Karel Doorman-class frigate of the Dutch navy that had been en route to the Netherlands Antilles when it was re-tasked to assist with the evacuation.

Ten minutes later, the _Van Speijk's_ crew raised the gangplank. Angry and panicked shouts erupted from the mass of people crowding the Port of Spain's port. He feared they might try to storm the frigate. Then what? How could they hope to hold back this many people? What was to stop them from becoming violent when the mob mentality took over? Would he be forced to shoot them? The thought sickened him. He was a Marine. He'd been trained to shoot enemy soldiers and terrorists and pirates, not unarmed civilians. But would he have a choice if they all wanted to rip him apart with their bare hands?

_Van Speijk _pulled away from the dock a few minutes later. The shouts from the crowd grew louder and more demanding. Luckily, no one got violent.

Yet.

Ruffin glanced over his shoulder. _Van Speijk_ began to swing around and head for open sea. Three more ships were due to arrive in the port in the next half-hour to evacuate more civilians. He wondered if they'd get here before Titanosaurus.

"Major Ruffin."

He turned to find Sergeant Jellicoe walking up behind him. The Trinidadian leaned close to him and whispered, "I just heard from headquarters. Titanosaurus is only a couple of kilometers away from the city."

Ruffin just stared silently at Jellicoe. He then looked back at the crowd. He doubted they would stay so orderly when they caught sight of the monster.

"We're starting to take people to some of the basements and underground storage facilities around the port," Jellicoe told him. "But I doubt there is enough room for everyone here."

"We'll have to find some places in the city itself, and hope they hold up when Titanosaurus attacks."

Jellicoe nodded, though doubt showed in his eyes. Hell, Ruffin even doubted his suggestion. But right now, they didn't have much choice.

Jellicoe took a few steps away from him when a trumpeting sound carried over the crowd. The noise from the thousands of Trinidadians dropped off. Many turned and looked to the east. Another trumpeting sound rippled through the air.

All of Ruffin's muscles tightened. His eyes flickered from the distant hills to the crowd.

Things were about to get really bad.

No, things were about to get _way past _really bad.

A reptilian head poked over the hills, followed by a long neck, then a scaly body.

Titanosaurus let loose another roar and stomped toward Port of Spain.

As one, the crowd screamed in terror. People pushed one another, trying to run in all directions.

Part of the crowd surged forward. Ruffin and the others in the human barrier tried to push back. They had no chance against hundreds of bodies fueled by fear.

Ruffin tumbled backwards off the dock. His rifle flew from his hands as he hit the water. More people splashed around him. He kicked, propelling himself toward the surface. Just as he broke through the water, a chubby man splashed next to him, clipping his shoulder. He growled in pain, then pushed it aside and looked in all directions. Over a hundred Trinidadians swam for all they were worth, maybe out to sea, maybe for the frigate. Maybe they had no destination in mind, fear overwhelming any sort of rational thinking.

Within the mass of panicked people he found Sergeant Major Best, then Fetisov, then Jaelin Hughes.

"Stay together!" he shouted. "All my guys! Stay together!"

He swung his head back and forth, trying to find the rest of his team. Titanosaurus roared again. The monster swatted a high-rise a few miles away. The top half shattered and tumbled toward the street. It then raised its hands and fired its claw missiles. More tall buildings exploded as though they'd been made of toothpicks.

_Miranda. _Fear welled up inside him. Was she all right? Did she find shelter somewhere? If anything happened to her . . .

Screams went up around Ruffin. He looked around. Many of the Trinidadians stopped swimming. A number of them pointed and shouted. He turned in the water.

_Oh my God._

A cold knife of fear tore through his gut as he watched the huge white wake barreling toward the port. Did the Venezuelans and Simbaaku have another monster? His gaze shifted to the _Van Speijk. _Any second he expected the wake to collide with the Dutch frigate. His fear turned to the hundreds of sailors and civilians on board the vessel, people he had no chance of saving.

The wake gave _Van Speijk _a wide berth. Suddenly a geyser of water exploded. He could make out an enormous dark silhouette through the sheets of water. It didn't take long for the form to become more distinct. The green scales, the large jagged, kite-shaped plates running down the back, the stubby snout.

Ruffin craned his neck and gaped, watching as Godzilla reared back and unleashed a prolonged, ear-splitting roar.

_**NEXT: GODZILLA VS. TITANOSAURUS!**_


	8. Chapter 8

Most of the crowd stopped swimming. Instead they tread water, looking up at Godzilla, then swinging their heads over to Titanosaurus. Like spectators at some sporting event, Ruffin thought. A few even lifted their cell phones, trying to get a picture.

The air grew tense as both monsters stared at one another. Godzilla emitted a low growl. Titanosaurus banged his hands together and roared.

"C'mon, Godzilla!" Jaelin raised a fist into the air. "Kick that ugly fucker's ass!"

As if responding to the sniper's cheer, Godzilla let loose a deafening roar and sloshed through the water onto dry land. Tremors rolled through the ground and into the bay with each footfall. Several buildings wound up flattened by Godzilla's massive feet.

Titanosaurus roared and charged. Buildings crumbled as he smashed into them. Trees fell over or were simply crushed. Clouds of dust and an occasional pillar of fire rose around the alien-controlled monster.

Godzilla roared and put his head down. He plowed into Titanosaurus. It reminded Ruffin of two football lineman crashing into each other. Two reptilian linemen in excess of one hundred feet and God only knew how many tons.

Titanosaurus fell backwards, his shoulder striking the side of a high rise. The blow tore out several floors. The top half of the high rise tilted to the right, then collapsed. More brown and gray dust clouds billowed up. Godzilla kicked at Titanosaurus. The monster's arms shot up. Godzilla roared and pitched backwards. Another quake rocked Port of Spain when he struck the ground, taking out an entire block of homes underneath him.

Ruffin forced himself to look away from the battle. He couldn't afford to be a spectator. He had stuff to do. Number one was account for all the members of his team.

He called out everyone's name, ordering them to rally around him. Jaelin, Best and Fetisov swam toward him. Less than a minute later he spotted JQ, Akua, Linc and Cheo. Gomez appeared shortly after them.

"Where's White?" Ruffin swung his head all around, searching for the big ex-Royal Marine.

Cheo lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Major. I found White floating face down. Some of the crowd must have fallen on him when they jumped into the water. His neck was broken. He's dead."

Ruffin swallowed. Disbelief gripped him. White dead? That couldn't be right.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to admit that White was gone.

But mourning would have to come later.

"Nothing we can do for him now, people. We have a job to do."

"What job, Sir?" asked Akua.

"To get as many people to safety as possible." He turned back to Godzilla and Titanosaurus, who dominated the Port of Spain skyline. Godzilla whipped his tail around and nailed Titanosaurus in the chest. The monster stumbled back, but did not fall. Instead it charged. Godzilla grabbed Titanosaurus in a bearhug. Both monsters wrestled until they toppled to the ground. The world shook again. More clouds of brown and gray dust sprang up. The billowing dark mass spread through the city, consuming buildings and trees, like a living organism.

Ruffin turned back to his men. "There are civilians out there who are injured and scared. They're gonna need help, and we're gonna give it to them. Got it?"

They all responded in the affirmative.

The nine private warriors swam back to the docks and dragged themselves onto dry land, soaking wet. They were soon joined by Sergeant Jellicoe and six other soldiers from the Trinidad and Tobago Regiment.

"We are headed back into the city," Jellicoe told them. "To aid any civilians who are injured or were unable to evacuate."

"Great minds think alike," Ruffin replied. "That's what we plan to do. Lead on."

Jellicoe nodded and sprinted off. Ruffin's team and the Trinidadian soldiers followed him. Every few seconds mini-earthquakes tore through the city. Ruffin looked over at the monsters. Titanosaurus bit down on Godzilla's left arm. Godzilla let out short roars of pain and anger, all the while pounding Titanosaurus' long neck with his right fist. One blow caught Titanosaurus in the eye. The monster let go of Godzilla's arm and stumbled back. Godzilla roared and lashed out with his right arm. His clawed hand struck Titanosaurus in the snout. The two monsters slashed and punched and wrestled as a large debris cloud floated around their legs. Ruffin estimated them to be three to four miles away.

He and the others turned onto a block of stores and business offices. Vehicles jammed the street, many with their drivers and passengers still in them. Horns blared non-stop.

Jellicoe ordered two of his soldiers to scout ahead for buildings with basements or old bomb shelters. Ruffin had JQ and Cheo go with them. The rest hurried between the tangle of vehicles, banging on roofs and windows, telling people to get out and find shelter.

One of those people, a well-dressed man in his mid-twenties sitting in a bright red Lotus Elise roadster, told Ruffin, "I just bought this car. No way I'm just gonna leave it."

Ruffin scowled and pointed to Godzilla and Titanosaurus, still exchanging blows and knocking over buildings. "You see that? If you don't get out of that car, it's gonna be the last one you ever buy. In fact, it'll be the last _anything _you ever buy. Got it?"

The man eyed the battling monsters, watching as Godzilla shoved Titanosaurus into a tall building, which crumbled to the ground. He swallowed, looked to Ruffin, then threw the door open and ran off.

JQ, Cheo and the two Trinidadian soldiers with them guided the civilians into the basements they found. Quakes constantly rippled under Ruffin's feet as the monsters kept fighting. He bit his lip, watching the Trinidadians hurry inside nearby buildings.

_Is that wise? _How many buildings had Godzilla and Titanosaurus destroyed? If the offices and stores around him collapsed, or either monster simply put their foot right through the street, what chance would the civilians in those basements have?

Unfortunately, there was nowhere else for them to go. Their chances for survival had to be better under cover than in the open, so long as that cover didn't fall on top of their heads.

He wouldn't call it the best option. More like the least-worst choice.

The quakes intensified. Ruffin turned to the right. The monsters pounded and slashed and pushed one another, coming closer him. Maybe two miles away, at least.

He maneuvered around the vehicles or just ran over top of them. Spotting only empty cars, he led his team to the next block, where another traffic jam awaited them. Sitting in the middle of it was a school bus full with children.

"Great." He hurried toward it, joined by Sergeant Major Best and one of Jellicoe's soldiers, a private.

When they reached the bus, Ruffin pounded on the door. "Get out! Get everyone out now!"

The bus driver, a heavyset middle-age woman, looked at him with wide eyes, not moving. Probably afraid of opening the door to some strange white guy screaming at her.

Ruffin turned to the Trinidadian soldier. "What's your name?"

"Private Narine, Sir."

"Narine, see if you can convince her to open the door." He hoped the driver would trust a fellow countryman in uniform more than a shouting foreigner.

Narine, a lanky, dark-skinned man who couldn't be older than twenty, tapped on the door. "Ma'am. Private Narine, Trinidad and Tobago Regiment. You and your children must evacuate the bus and seek shelter. It is not safe here."

The driver hesitated, then reached for the handle with a shaky hand. The door slid open. Narine entered the bus, followed by Ruffin.

"Is he with you?" the driver nodded to Ruffin.

"Yes, Ma'am," Narine responded.

The driver nodded and relaxed a little. "I'm sorry. The way you were yelling I didn't know -"

"No time for apologies," Ruffin said. "We need everyone off this bus now."

"But-But where will we go?" asked the driver.

"We'll get you to a basement. It's the best place to be right now." _Or the least-worst place. _

Ruffin's eyes swept over the interior of the bus. He estimated twenty-plus kids. Most of the boys stared out the window watching Godzilla and Titanosaurus fight. From their open mouths and constant, "Wows," they apparently thought this was the coolest thing in the world. The majority of girls, however, cried in fright.

He also noticed one girl near the front with a plaster cast below her knee and crutches across her lap.

_Wonderful._

The driver got out of her seat and leaned closer to Ruffin. "Leanda has a broken leg. And what if some of the children get lost looking for shelter?"

A tremor rocked the bus, followed by a roar from Godzilla. The boys "wowed," again. The girls cried louder.

Ruffin put his lips an inch from the driver's ear. "You're not going anywhere in this bus. If those kids stay here, they're dead. Got it?"

The driver stared back at him, eyes blazing with fear. Anger built inside Ruffin at the driver's inaction. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, the large woman nodded and turned to the kids.

"Children! Children pay attention. These people are with the Defense Forces. We're going to follow them to a safe place. Everyone hold hands and stay together. Do not wander off."

Ruffin went over to the girl with the broken leg, Leanda, and reached down for her. "C'mon, honey. I got you. You're gonna be fine."

He picked her up in both arms and carried her off the bus. No way would she be able to keep up on her crutches. He stood outside while Narine and the driver herded the rest of the kids off the bus. His attention split between the children and the monsters, now little more than a mile away. Ruffin held his breath when he saw a blue aura surround the plates running down Godzilla's back. A stream of blue flame shot out his mouth and struck Titanosaurus in the chest. Flames and smoke burst from its brightly colored body. Many of the boys around him cheered. Ruffin almost cheered himself when he saw Titanosaurus stumble.

_Go down. Go down and stay down, you bastard._

But Titanosaurus remained on his feet. The beast turned back to Godzilla, roared and raised his right arm. Ruffin heard deep pops and saw white streaks flash from Titanosaurus' claws. A geyser of blood rose from Godzilla's right shoulder. He let out a high-pitched roar of pain.

"That's all of them, Sir," Narine reported.

"Where to now?" asked Best.

Ruffin looked around, wondering which building might have a basement.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Titanosaurus turn his back to Godzilla. A fin popped up from the tip of his tail. The monster swung back and forth. Wind whistled past Ruffin, kicking up papers and other debris. It grew stronger by the second.

_Just pick one and pray you're right._

"This way! Go! Go! Go!"

The wind continued to pick up. Ruffin gritted his teeth as he hurried to a nearby office building, the wind buffeting him. Leanda latched on to him tighter and screamed in terror. His arms and back burned from holding the little girl for so long. He ignored the pain and continued forward.

Narine opened the door for him. Ruffin stepped inside and watched as Best and the driver waved the children through. The wind blew with hurricane force. All manner of debris streaked through the air. Ruffin feared some of the children would be blown over, even blown away.

They all made it inside. Ruffin swung his head in all directions as the wind screamed outside, looking for a door that might lead to a basement.

_Please have a basement._

"Here, Sir." Best called out from the end of a small corridor to the left. The Sergeant-Major tried to handle. Locked.

"Better cover your ears, everyone." Best drew his handgun and pumped four rounds into the lock. He kicked open the door, looked inside and nodded.

"We're in luck, Sir. One basement, as hoped for."

"Good. Everyone downstairs! Go! Go!"

The children filed into the basement. The howl of the wind outside turned deafening. Ruffin tensed, fearing the whole building would be ripped from its foundation.

Once all the children and the bus driver had gone down to the basement, Ruffin followed, carrying Leanda. Next came Private Narine, and finally, Sergeant-Major Best.

Ruffin set Leanda down against the wall. Tears streamed down the girl's face. "I want my mommy and daddy."

"I know you do, sweetheart." A deep boom filled the air, followed by a tremor. Screams erupted from the children.

"I don't wanna die!" Leanda cried.

"Hey. Leanda, look at me." He gently grasped the girl's shoulders. "It is Leanda, right?"

She nodded. Another tremor ripped through the basement. Leanda and most of the other children screamed.

"Leanda, my name's John. I used to be an American Marine. Have you heard of the Marines?"

"I-I think so."

Another tremor. More screams.

"Well our job is to protect people like you. So as long as I'm here, I won't let anything happen to -"

The world around him exploded.

**XXXXX**

The hurricane wind died down as Godzilla struggled to rise, the rubble of numerous buildings surrounding him. He rolled onto his side and started to push himself up when Titanosaurus rushed up and kicked him. Godzilla spun through the air and smashed into the ground. He rolled for nearly a half-mile, flattening buildings and vehicles and people.

Titanosaurus roared and kicked Godzilla again. And again. And again, leaving a trail of rubble in their wake. Titanosaurus ran in for another kick. Still on his side, Godzilla let loose a stream of radioactive fire. The blue flames struck Titanosaurus in the right leg. The monster cried out in pain. The nanobots immediately went to work, replacing the flesh and bone that had been burned and melted away.

Godzilla got to his feet, roared and charged. He swatted Titanosaurus on the neck. Titanosaurus swiped Godzilla across the snout. Godzilla moved in and clamped his jaws down on the other monster's neck. He felt scaly flesh give. The warm taste of blood flooded his mouth. Godzilla continued to bite harder.

Titanosaurus screeched in pain. He then jammed his right hand into the flesh just under Godzilla's armpit. Four high-speed talons blasted through the monster's body.

Godzilla stumbled away, a reptilian cry erupting from his maw. Blood poured from the gaping holes in his dark green hide. Titanosaurus roared and rushed forward. He rammed into Godzilla, sending him crashing through a tall building. A rain of steel and concrete fell around him as he slammed into the ground.

Titanosaurus stomped on Godzilla, again and again. Blood came out in gushers. Godzilla swatted at his attacker, his blows growing weaker by the second. Titanosaurus grabbed him by the snout and lifted him to his feet. He pounded the gaping wounds in Godzilla's sides, then got him in a bearhug. Titanosaurus reared back and flung Godzilla into the air. The monster soared for over a mile before crashing near the port. Buildings were flattened or collapsed. Huge dust clouds sprang up around him.

Godzilla pushed himself to his feet, wobbling from side to side. Titanosaurus raised both hands. Eight talons streaked through the air.

Six tore through Godzilla.

Torso covered in blood, Godzilla stumbled backwards, falling into the water. Huge waves washed over the port and through the streets. Godzilla turned around, staggering toward the open water.

Titanosaurus fired another barrage of hypersonic talons. Three struck Godzilla in the back, tearing off two of his plates.

Godzilla pitched forward. Gigantic white curtains shot up around him when he hit the water. Godzilla sank beneath the waves. Titanosaurus stared at the water for a minute. Two minutes. Three minutes.

Godzilla did not resurface.

Titanosaurus leaned back and let out a triumphant roar. He then turned around, surveying the fire and smoke and rubble before him. Despite all the devastation, hundreds upon hundreds of buildings throughout Port of Spain remained standing.

They wouldn't for long.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	9. Chapter 9

_White House Situation Room, Washington DC_

President Raymond Atherton drew a shaky breath as he stared at the myriad of video monitors mounted to the front wall. The largest one displayed a satellite image of Port of Spain. Not that there was much to see. Smoke, dust clouds and flames blotted out most of the city.

_Why would anyone do this? Why?_

"Mister President? Mister President?"

He swung his chair around, looking out at the men and women sitting at the long conference table. Three seats away a rotund, balding man looked his way, his eyes flickering between him and the iPad in his hand.

"Yes, Ben?"

Secretary of State Ben Price bit his lower lip before continuing. "I just received the latest casualty estimates from Port of Spain."

Atherton's lanky frame stiffened. "What is it?"

"Right now we're looking in excess of forty thousand dead, and twice as many injured. But because of the destruction of Port of Spain's infrastructure, including hospitals, police and emergency services, the death toll is expected to climb much higher over the next two to three days."

Atherton's stomach twisted. He felt his hair turning even grayer.

"Mister President," Price said. "We have to send aid to Trinidad as soon as possible. Carla -" He referred to Carla Marchetti, the Director of National Intelligence – "tells me that Piarco International Airport was not damaged during the attack. It lies ten kilometers outside Port of Spain. We'll be able to send relief flights there without any problem."

"I wouldn't say any problem, Mister Secretary," said a round man with thinning black hair and glasses dressed in a dark blue Navy uniform. Admiral Doug Garber, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "All the smoke and debris clouds from Titanosaurus' attack are floating over the airport. It could be a day or two before it clears up enough for flight operations to resume."

Frustration grew inside Atherton as he shifted his gaze toward Admiral Garber. "So what are we supposed to do? Wait until then to help the Trinidadians? Let more of them die?"

"We may not have a choice. It will take at least a day or two for us to get enough relief supplies and the necessary personnel loaded onto planes and ships bound for Trinidad."

The corners of Atherton's mouth twisted. Trust the military to rationalize why they couldn't help innocent people when they needed it.

_If they can't kill or blow up people, they're useless._

"There's also another matter," Garber continued, much to the President's annoyance. "Titanosaurus retreated into the sea less than twenty minutes ago. We have no idea where he is. He could be headed for open ocean, or he could be swimming off the coast of Trinidad, waiting to attack again. Because of that, I can't declare that area secure for a relief operation."

"Then find him," Atherton snapped.

"Unfortunately, Mister President, we can't. All our assets tasked for the Trinidad and Tobago Theater of Operations were destroyed by Titanosaurus. The closest vessel we have is the _USS New Mexico, _a Virginia-class fast attack submarine. But it's at least a day-and-a-half's travel away."

Atherton folded his hands together and stared at the polished wood surface. He hated to rely on the military for anything. But if he ordered relief ships to Trinidad and Titanosaurus sank them, the press and Congress would tear him a new one.

"Tell that submarine to head for Trinidad."

"Yes, Mister President," Garber replied. "Also, Sir, I recommend we raise the alert level of all our forces in CONUS." He used the abbreviation for Continental United States. "We need to be prepared in case Titanosaurus comes north and attacks us."

"What do you want, Admiral? Soldiers all over our streets. Fighter planes roaring overhead? No. That's just going to panic everyone, and Americans are scared enough after what happened in Port of Spain."

"Mister President, I'm not recommending any sort of deployment at this time, but we need to have them ready in case the need arises."

Atherton exhaled loudly. He didn't want to give in to Garber and let hundreds of thousands of soldiers across the country grab their guns and jump in their planes with a full testosterone hard-on, itching to kill something. But if he didn't do that, the right-wing loons would scream about him being weak on defense.

_Dammit. I hate this shit. _He hated having to act the tough guy and pretend to respect those murderers in their fancy uniforms. Life would be so much easier if the military just went away.

Until then, he had to play the game.

"Fine. Raise the alert level, but keep those troops restricted to their bases."

"Yes, Mister President."

"Hell, Titanosaurus probably won't even come here," Atherton couldn't help but add.

"We can't assume that, Mister President," said Garber. "Especially after the information we received from the Trinidadians about Titanosaurus being under the control of the Venezuelans and the Sim-"

"That's unconfirmed." Atherton leaned forward, his eyes narrowed at the Admiral. "That information came from Shield International, most likely in an attempt to further embarrass me. Anything that comes from them is to be disregarded."

"But when you look at the attacks on-"

"Do I need to repeat myself, Admiral?"

Garber took a slow breath, clearing stewing. He replied in a forced tone, "No, Mister President."

The two continued to stare at one another. Much as he tried to hide it, the disdain in Garber's eyes was evident.

_Well, the feeling's mutual._

He looked away from Admiral Garber. "Now, onto more important matters. Ben, I want you to call for an emergency meeting of the Organization of American States. We're going to need help from a lot of other countries to get Trinidad back on its feet."

"I'll get on that right away."

"Good. Meanwhile, I'll put out a plea to the Red Cross, Salvation Army and Doctors Without Borders for relief supplies and volunteers to go to Trin-"

"Excuse me, Mister President." A slender black woman with coiffed hair two seats down lifted one hand, while the other had a cell phone pressed to her ear. "I'm sorry to interrupt."

"What is it, Rebecca?"

Rebecca Foster, the President's Chief of Staff, said, "It's the White House Communications Office. General Moscoso is on the line. He wants to talk with you. He says it's urgent."

Atherton tilted his head. Moscoso? What the hell would Venezuela's president want with . . .

He froze for a moment. He swore he saw a brief smile of satisfaction cross the lips of Admiral Garber.

"Put the General through to the Situation Room."

"Yes, Mister President." Rebecca nodded.

Within seconds the main monitor showed an image of Moscoso in a dark green military dress uniform with rows and rows of colorful ribbons plastered all over his left breast. Beside him stood an unsmiling man with Asian features dressed in a silver jumpsuit.

Atherton tensed, his mind propelling him back thirty-plus years, when he was a freshman in college. He'd seen pictures of those silver-suited men all over the TV and the newspapers.

General Moscoso was with a Simbaaku.

_They were right. Briggs and his mercenary thugs were right._

"Mister President," Moscoso said in clipped English.

"General. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I take it you have seen what has happened in Port of Spain."

"Of course I have." Atherton paused. "Are you responsible for that?"

The smile on the Simbaaku's face was all the answer he needed.

"Why? Why would you do that? You've completely destroyed that city. Tens of thousands are dead and dying? What reason could you have for such a heinous act?"

"That is about to become clear," Moscoso said. "First, I ask that you clear the room. What we have to say can only be discussed leader to leader."

Atherton clenched his jaw, then turned to the others in the Situation Room. "Everyone out."

"Mister President," Secretary of State Price blurted.

"That's an order, Ben. Everyone out."

Reluctantly, the National Security Council members got up from their seats and filed out the door. Atherton even ordered his Secret Service guards outside. When he was alone in the room, he turned back to Moscoso and the Simbaaku.

"Before we continue, General, does your ally there have name? I'd like to know who I'm talking with."

"My name is Ulljrex. I am the leader of the Simbaaku contingent on Earth."

"I thought all the Simbaaku were killed thirty years ago."

"Some of us escaped. But with our ship destroyed, we were stranded on this planet. Over time, our views on militarism and conquest changed drastically from the rest of my race. We realized that our war against Earth had been wrong, and that we must seek out human allies if we were to have any hope to survive."

Atherton sat up straighter. He saw an opening toward a path for peace. "Such a monumental change in your beliefs is to be commended, Ulljrex."

A slight tic formed under Ulljrex's left eye. "Thank you, Mister President."

"Surely in those thirty years living among us, you have seen the more admirable qualities of human beings, qualities that should demonstrate we would be better off working together instead of engaging in this senseless slaughter."

"Unfortunately, Mister President, many of the qualities we have found in humans are far from admirable. Especially the humans in your country. Side-by-side with our Venezuelan friends, we have seen your United States force its will on other countries, or outright invade those you disagree with. You have imprisoned and murdered innocent people under the guise of national security. You profit from weapons sold to countries around your world, weapons used to start wars and commit atrocities."

"Now, Ulljrex." Atherton held up a hand. "Those things you're talking about were all done by my predecessors. I cannot be held responsible for their actions. In fact, I have been working very hard to make up for this country's past mistakes."

Now Moscoso spoke. "All you have done, Mister President, is give pretty speeches about what a more tolerant and humble nation yours is. But they are words with no substance. You talk, but you do not act. Now, we shall force you to act."

"What do you mean by that?"

Moscoso leaned closer to the screen. "At this moment, Titanosaurus is making his way to Miami."

Atherton's stomach turned into a cold ball.

"How many people live in Miami, Mister President? Five million?"

"Please. Please, you can't."

"America has committed many sins. Consider this your punishment."

"I . . . I can't allow this to happen."

Moscoso barked out a laugh. "Do you really think you can stop Titanosaurus? You saw what he did to your carrier groups, the greatest symbols of your nation's power. Even the mighty Godzilla was no match for him. Your country is helpless before Titanosaurus."

"Wait!" Atherton nearly jumped out of his seat. "You can't do this. Killing innocent people isn't necessary. There has to be another way."

Moscoso and Ulljrex exchanged glances, then turned back to the camera. The General grinned. "Actually, Mister President, there is a way to avoid the slaughter of your citizens in Miami."

"How?"

"You agree that your country has interfered far too much in world affairs."

Atherton paused. "The arrogance of previous administrations has caused more harm than good in the world, yes."

"Precisely. Now it is time for that interference to end."

"What do you propose?"

Moscoso drew himself up ramrod straight. "First, your military, your enforcers of American imperialism. All your troops and ships and aircraft deployed throughout the world must return to your country immediately. And to ensure the United States can no longer impose its will on any other nation, all your military forces will demobilize, and all your weapons must be scrapped."

Shock paralyzed Atherton. Moscoso really wanted him to do away with the US military? Sure, he had wished for an end to that group of thugs and killers, but to actually do it?

_Isn't that the reason the world hates us? Because of our military. If we didn't have it any more . . ._

"Go on." Atherton nodded to Moscoso.

"In addition, all your intelligence agencies, CIA, NSA, NRO," Moscoso referred to the National Reconnaissance Office, which maintained America's spy satellites, "shall be disbanded. American businesses must close all their overseas operations, and American citizens living abroad must return to their country. From now on, no American shall be allowed to travel or reside outside the borders of your country."

"You're imprisoning us?"

"This is your punishment, Mister President, for all the crimes your country has committed throughout its history. But think of it, with the United States no longer a great presence in the world, hatred for your country will diminish. There will be peace."

Atherton sat back, contemplating Moscoso's words. He had wanted that. For the US to stop meddling in the affairs of other countries, for the military and CIA to stop killing and torturing people. But he didn't want someone like Moscoso to have him do it at gunpoint.

_Or in this case, monster-point._

But if it saved the lives of everyone in Miami, if it could bring peace to the world . . .

"If I agree to this, Titanosaurus won't destroy Miami, or any other US city?"

"No," Moscoso answered. "You have my word."

"What about Trinidad?"

"We still have some issues to settle with that country, but after today, they will not be your concern."

Atherton nodded. He could accept that. Hell, most Americans couldn't even find Trinidad on a map. What would they care if Venezuela took over that dinky little island?

"And what about me?"

"You may continue to rule your country as you see fit," answered Moscoso. "What you do in America is your business."

"There will be people here who won't go along with this. Lots of Americans have guns. They might rebel."

"Then take away their guns."

"That means I still need to have security forces. Armed security forces."

Moscoso paused. "You are allowed forces for internal security only. But the heaviest weapon they can have is a machine gun. No missiles or tanks or combat aircraft."

Atherton took a few settling breaths. "General Moscoso, Mister Ulljrex. I think this arrangement is acceptable."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	10. Chapter 10

Ruffin stared at the pile of rubble in front of him, anticipation swelling within him. The sounds of picks and shovels and jackhammers had grown louder over the past few minutes.

_Not long now before we're out of here._

He closed his eyes, silently thanking God for looking out for them. He figured the hurricane-force winds must have knocked over Godzilla, who had clipped the side of the building they were in. Had he fallen right on top of it, that would have been the end of them.

But there was still too much rubble for them to dig through. Luckily, Ruffin had his satellite phone, and managed to call Chief Briggs. Using the signal to home in on their location, Briggs had dispatched a chopper with Shield International and Trinidad and Tobago Defense Force personnel to dig them out.

With the roads throughout Port of Spain either blocked by debris or destroyed, they couldn't get any heavy equipment in. That meant all the work had to be done with hand tools. That meant it would be a while before Ruffin and the others saw daylight again.

Right now they were going on twenty-two hours trapped in this basement. Twenty-two hours in which their meager supply of food and water had already run out. Twenty-two hours of having to calm and reassure almost two dozen scared children. Twenty-two hours of using a couple of wastepaper baskets Best scrounged up as toilets. Twenty-two hours in an enclosed space that reeked of sweat, unwashed bodies, urine and feces.

_At least we're all still alive. _Besides, he'd lived in worse conditions than this, and for a considerably longer duration, during his time in The Corps and with Shield International.

Still, it would be good to get out of here and –

Some of the debris shifted and cracked. A hole opened. Ruffin blinked against the sudden stream of sunlight. He heard the children jump to their feet and clamor in excitement.

"Major Ruffin? Is that you?"

He recognized the voice instantly. Lincoln Morton, the team's medic.

"Linc! Man, am I glad to see you."

"Likewise, Sir. How's everyone doing down there?"

"Other than some bumps and cuts, we're all fine."

"I'm glad to hear that. If you can give us a few minutes to enlarge the opening, we'll begin bringing you out."

"Do whatever you need to do, Linc," Ruffin answered.

It took about five minutes to shove more debris aside and create a bigger opening. Ruffin, Best, Private Narine, and the bus driver – Angela – helped the children through first. Angela climbed out next, followed by Narine, then Best, and finally Ruffin. He took a deep breath and immediately coughed. The air reeked of smoke and dust and human waste and burnt flesh.

"Glad to see you gentlemen are all right." Briggs made his way through the crushed vehicles and mounds of debris toward them.

Ruffin barely acknowledged his boss. Instead he gazed all around him, feeling tremors build in his legs.

_Oh my God._

He recalled all the documentaries he'd watched from World War Two, the ones that showed footage of cities like London and Berlin devastated by bombing raids.

Port of Spain looked far worse.

Rubble stretched as far as he could see. Only a handful of buildings and trees remained standing. Dozens upon dozens of columns of smoke rose into the air. He wondered when someone would get around to putting out those fires.

Then again, he doubted there were any fire service units left in Port of Spain.

"I know."

Briggs' voice snapped Ruffin out of his stupor. He turned to the CEO of Shield International, who said, "I've spent thirty-five years as a soldier and a private military contractor, and I've never seen anything like this. My God, you wonder if they can even rebuild this city."

Ruffin nodded, then looked around what remained of the block. He saw Linc, Akua and Gomez tending to the children. Fetisov, Jaelin and Jellicoe helped carry off some of the digging tools. Best and Narine greedily drank from water bottles.

"Here. I'm sure you need this." Briggs handed him a bottled water and a Cliff Bar.

"Thanks, Chief." Ruffin drank half the bottle in one gulp and wolfed down the Cliff Bar. "Where's JQ and Cheo?"

Briggs' shoulders slumped. His eyes fell to the ground.

Ruffin froze. _No._

"I'm sorry, Major. They got caught in the open when Godzilla took that tumble. Poor guys didn't stand a chance."

Ruffin swallowed. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. First White, now JQ and Cheo. JQ had been on his team for two years. Confident, capable, a great XO. More importantly, a great human being. And Ruffin never grew tired of hearing about JQ's days of playing college basketball at U-C Santa Barbara.

Now he'd never hear those stories again.

His thoughts turned to Cheo. He'd met the Singaporean while still in The Corps, when his Recapture Tactics Team crossed-trained with Cheo's Special Operations unit. Cheo lived to push the envelope, an attitude frowned upon in a rules-obsessed society like Singapore. That attitude had forced him out of army, at which time Ruffin recruited him for Shield International.

_And look where that got him._

He then caught sight of Jaelin, who dragged a shovel behind him, head down.

"How's Jaelin doing?"

Briggs sighed. "He's doing what needs to be done, but he's hurtin'. Hurtin' bad. Who wouldn't be if their brother was just killed?"

"Yeah." He continued to stare at Jaelin, vowing to keep an extra eye on the ex-LAPD SWAT sniper. It was hard enough for any warrior to put aside the deaths of their brothers-in-arms and keep doing their job. How much harder was it when it was your actual brother?

Worry and fear clawed at Ruffin. He scanned the wasteland that was Port of Spain.

_Miranda._

A shiver ran through his body. He couldn't imagine the US Embassy was still standing. Had she been in it when . . .

_No. She'd have found a way to get out. She's tough, resourceful._

So were JQ, White and Cheo, not that it helped them.

"Major . . . John." Briggs put a hand on his shoulder. "You know this as well as I do. Mourning will have to wait. We've got a lot of shit to deal with right know, and the emphasis is on the word 'shit.'"

"Did Titanosaurus attack somewhere else?" Since he'd turned off his satellite phone after help arrived to save the battery, he had no idea what had happened in the world since being trapped in the basement.

"I wish it was something that simple."

Ruffin furrowed his brow. What the hell did The Chief mean by that?"

A crest-fallen look came over Briggs' face. "The US surrendered to the Venezuelans and the Simbaaku."

Ruffin staggered back. His head spun. He couldn't have heard that right. The US surrendered?

He shook his head. "Wha . . . Chief . . . How?"

Briggs' crest-fallen look turned into one of outrage. "Our fucking worthless, chickenshit President. Atherton came on TV, called this thing a 'negotiated settlement for a new era of peace.' I wanted to puke when I heard that. The bastard surrendered. Without a fight!"

Ruffin stared at him, mouth agape. He had no idea what to say.

Briggs spat, glaring at the debris around them. "You know the unconditional surrender terms The Allies gave the Japanese at the end of World War Two? This one's a thousand times worse. The armed forces and all our intelligence agencies have been disbanded, all US businesses overseas were ordered to close up shop, all American citizens living abroad have to return home, and we're all confined within our own borders."

"That's insane!" Anger blasted through Ruffin's shock.

"It's treasonous is what it is."

"So what do we do now?"

"We'll we're not gonna surrender, that's for sure. I'm setting up a pow wow at the airport. Luckily, it was far enough outside the city Titanosaurus didn't touch it. We'll talk about our options there."

Briggs led everyone through several blocks of rubble before they came to an expansive lawn near the remains of a brick building that Ruffin thought might have been a school. A Shield International CH-46 Sea Knight twin-rotor helicopter sat on the grass. Angela and the children were put on board first, thanking and hugging Ruffin and the others for their help. The Sea Knight took off, dropped off the civilians at Piarco International Airport, then came back to retrieve the Shield International personnel and the Trinidadian soldiers. The helicopter flew low, under the clouds of smoke that stretched all the way to the airport and beyond.

When they landed, Briggs ushered them to a nearby hangar already occupied by dozens of people. Ruffin immediately noticed Tombstone and a handful of Shield International pilots and backseaters. His chest tightened when he didn't see Skrag, Underwood, Zelaya or Bob Doyle. Behind them were the groundcrew and other SI support personnel. All present and accounted for.

Ruffin also saw members from SI's three other ground teams. Sixteen in all. Sixteen out of thirty. A lump formed in his throat. Grief threatened to consume him. He tried to fight it off. Part of him didn't want to. Part of him wanted to collapse and cry like a newborn. His country had surrendered. So many friends and comrades had died. How much could one man take?

"John!"

The voice snatched him away from the abyss. At first he thought he imagined it. Then he saw her striding toward him, her pants and blouse filthy and tattered, her face covered with dirt, her hair matted with sweat.

She never looked more beautiful to him.

"Miranda!"

Eyes glistening, she jumped into his arms. Ruffin forgot all about professionalism and kissed her hard on the lips.

"My God, I was . . ." He smiled, cupping her cheeks. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Are you all right? How did you get here?"

"We were evacuating the embassy, but my station chief was loading everyone into cars. I told him we wouldn't make it that way, with the roads jammed or blocked by rubble. But he started quoting procedure and all that crap. So I left on foot. I made it about a mile before . . . before Titanosaurus smashed the embassy. I don't think any of my people made it out."

"I'm sorry." He gently rubbed her shoulders.

"I just wandered around for hours, helping people were I could, shooting a couple maggots who wanted to rape me. I lucked out when a Trinidadian Defense Force helicopter flew overhead. I flagged it down and they brought me here."

"And you decided to invite yourself to this little get together?" Briggs folded his arms and stared at her.

"Mister Briggs, I know we've been on opposite sides of the fence for the past couple of years, but you heard the President. I'm out of a job, same with everyone else at The Agency. And after he just handed our country over to General Moscoso and those alien SOBs, I don't owe that spineless bastard shit. I'll give you whatever help I can."

Briggs took a slow breath, then smiled. "I'm glad you've seen the light, Miss Quintero. Welcome aboard."

The two shook hands. Briggs then guided Ruffin over to a group of men in green-gray-brown Army Combat Uniform, or ACUs.

"Major, this is Lieutenant McGlothen, Eighty-Second Airborne."

"Sir." McGlothen nodded to Ruffin.

"Lieutenant." He scanned the men around McGlothen, who number just over thirty. Platoon strength. "I heard you guys deployed with an entire battalion. How did they come through?"

The veins in McGlothen's neck stuck out. "Not well, Sir. They set up a defensive line in the mountains east of here when Titanosaurus showed up. Most . . ." He trembled slightly. "Most of them are dead, wounded or MIA. That includes the battalion CO and XO. My platoon was tasked with guarding the airport. That's why . . . That's why we're still alive."

The breath stuck in Ruffin's throat. It found the news hard to digest. An entire battalion of America's best troops, practically wiped out, with this group led by a second lieutenant who looked like he was barely out of high school all that remained.

After offering his condolences to McGlothen, Briggs introduced him to a tall, pot-bellied black man in combat fatigues. Colonel Faris Cudjoe, the Deputy Chief of the Trinidad and Tobago Defense Staff.

"How are your forces doing, Sir?" Ruffin asked.

"Not very well. We have nearly a thousand members of the Defense Force dead, wounded or unaccounted for."

Ruffin clenched his jaw. That counted as a significant loss. The Defense Force only had 4,000 active duty personnel before Titanosaurus attacked.

"We also lost many of our coast guard vessels based at Port of Spain," Cudjoe continued. "Our Air Guard is intact, but because of the smoke and dust in the air, our fixed-wing aircraft are grounded for the time being. We can operate our helicopters, but we don't have anywhere near the number needed for a disaster like this."

"What about international help?"

"Some of our neighboring countries are organizing relief missions, but others are afraid to send ships or planes here because they think Titanosaurus might attack again. At any other time, we would expect your country to send humanitarian aid, but after the announcement your President made yesterday . . ."

Ruffin scowled. "Yeah. Don't count on America for help any more."

"And that's why we're all here." Briggs waved them all over to the center of the hangar. "Let's gather around gentlemen . . . and lady." He nodded to Miranda.

Once everyone had settled into a spot around Briggs, he spoke. "Well, we all know the story with President Atherton. That coward surrendered to Venezuela and the Simbaaku."

"Can he actually do that, Sir?" asked McGlothen. "I mean, wouldn't he have to get approval from Congress for something like that?"

"To be honest, Lieutenant, I don't know. I can't think of anything in US law that spells out the proper procedure to surrender. But from everything I've heard from news networks inside and outside the US, and from my contacts, military units across the country are standing down, and all intelligence personnel have been sent home. Legal or not, this is happening."

"Can't Congress put the brakes on this?" asked Gomez. "Or maybe the Supreme Court?"

Briggs sighed. "There are some representatives and senators who are trying to fight this, but I doubt they'll succeed. Some members of Congress are going along with the surrender, because they're scared of what Titanosaurus could do to US cities, or they're sycophants of Atherton. At least, the ones who are still at The Capitol. More than a hundred representatives and senators have resigned out of protest. So have a few members of Atherton's administration, including Joint Chiefs Chairman Garber."

Ripples of anxiety went through Ruffin. The US Government was coming apart at the seams, setting the stage for Atherton to become a dictator.

_Or rather a puppet dictator for the Venezuelans and the Simbaaku._

"What about the rest of the country?" Linc raised his hand. "Are the people going along with this crap?"

"Some are. They're scared after seeing what Titanosaurus did to Port of Spain. Others are flocking to gun stores, saying they'll fight even if Atherton won't. Then . . ." Briggs bit his lower lip and looked away for a few second. "Then, we've had some states already secede."

Gasps of shock rose from many in the room.

"No way."

"Are you serious?"

"Which ones?"

"Texas, Alaska, Arizona, Utah, Montana and South Dakota," Briggs answered the last question. "I've also heard Hawaii, Oklahoma, South Carolina and few other states will follow suit soon."

"My God." Jaelin's jaw dropped. "Is The President gonna do something about it? Like send in troops to stop them?"

"According to the surrender terms," said Miranda, "The President doesn't have a military any more. Even if he did, he'd probably be hesitant to use it."

"More likely the bad guys will just send Titanosaurus to those states." Anger lines etched into Ruffin's forehead. "After he stomps a few cities into the ground, they'll all probably surrender."

"It's not just the United States having problems," Briggs said. "The fallout from Atherton's surrender is being felt all over the world. North Korea's rushing troops and tanks to the border with South Korea. China, Taiwan, The Philippines and Vietnam are all sending warships to secure the oil deposits in the Spratly Islands. Militants have launched attacks in Pakistan's capital. Terrorist bombings have occurred all over Iraq. Iran, Syria and Israel have all put their armed forces on the highest state of alert."

Sergeant-Major Best snorted. "So much for Atherton's new era of peace rubbish."

"What of Venezuela?" Colonel Cudjoe asked. "With our capital in ruin, this would be the perfect time for General Moscoso to invade."

"I've checked with some of my friends at Langley," Miranda told him. "They've been able to hack into some spy satellites over Venezuela. Their forces are on heightened alert, but there are no indications they are gearing up for an imminent invasion of Trinidad."

"Why should they?" Sergeant Jellicoe shrugged. "With the United States having surrendered, the Venezuelans can take their time preparing to invade us."

"Possibly." Miranda nodded. "There's also something else to consider. We don't actually know the ultimate goal of the Simbaaku."

"I think that's obvious," said Tombstone. "To take over the world, like they tried to do last time."

"Yes. But is it just this handful of surviving Simbaaku? Did they salvage enough of their technology to make contact with the rest of their race? For all we know, there could be a whole fleet of Simbaaku saucers headed for Earth right this minute."

No one spoke. Ruffin could feel the tension and fear permeating the hangar. It took an effort not to succumb to it. Titanosaurus by himself was bad enough. Titanosaurus backed up by thousands, maybe millions of Simbaaku warriors?

What chance would the world have?

"Right now we have no idea if that's true or not," said Briggs. "For the moment, we have to deal with what we know, and what we know is the Simbaaku are controlling Titanosaurus. They've already forced the United States to surrender. I imagine some other countries are going to follow soon, and some others will take the opportunity to settle scores with their neighbors. When the dust settles, that's when we'll find out if the Simbaaku are going to make us slaves, or make us extinct."

"It would probably make more sense to enslave us," noted Cudjoe. "Why would a handful of aliens wish to rule a dead planet?"

"They may not want to rule us. They may want to use Titanosaurus to exterminate us and make room for their buddies from space. Even if they don't have the means to talk instantly with the rest of their race, they can probably use one of our radio telescopes to send a message. It might take decades, even a century or two for a message to reach the other Simbaaku, but when they arrive, they'll find an Earth cleansed of human beings and all ready for colonization."

Gomez emitted a sardonic laugh. "Slavery or extinction. You ask me, Chief, both those options suck."

"I won't argue with you there, and that's why we're going to stop that from happening."

"How, Sir?" asked McGlothen.

"The Simbaaku and the Venezuelans are controlling Titanosaurus from a facility at the Puerto Caballo naval base. We're going to go there and take it out."

McGlothen's eyes widened. "Do we have enough assets to do that? I mean, look at all the losses we've suffered. My battalion's gone, we hardly have any heavy weapons, and we don't have much in the way of air or naval support."

"I'm afraid the Lieutenant is right," said Cudjoe. "Most of our surviving Defense Force members are committed to relief operations in Port of Spain. Our Air Guard has no combat aircraft, and our Coast Guard is equipped more for search-and-rescue and drug interdiction missions, not direct naval combat. They would have no chance against the Venezuelan navy."

Briggs put his hands on his hips and surveyed the people around him. "I know we don't have a lot in the cupboard, folks, but we don't have much choice. I hate to sound melodramatic, but our little ragtag group is the last hope the world has. There's no on else out there who's gonna give us any help."

"Perhaps Godzilla will," Akua said. "Even though Titanosaurus hurt him much, I cannot believe he is dead."

"We can't count on that, Akua. We have to be of the mindset that we are it. The way I see it, we have three options. We can fight, live as slaves, or just wait for Titanosaurus to squash us like cockroaches."

"Slavery and extinction doesn't appeal to me much, Sir," McGlothen responded. "My men and I are with you."

The paratroopers around him nodded.

"Count me in," Miranda announced.

Colonel Cudjoe stepped forward. "I will spare as many Defense Force personnel as possible for your mission, Mister Briggs."

Sergeant Jellicoe and Private Narine both snapped to attention and volunteered for the assault on Puerto Caballo. That was followed by Ruffin and the rest of the Shield International members voicing their support.

"Thank you, all of you. You're all a credit to your countries and your organizations." Briggs clapped his hands together. "Now, time to get down to business and come up with a plan to stop these bastards, and pray to God it works."

"We'll make it work or die trying," said Ruffin. "Because quite frankly, if we fail, there won't be a world worth going back to."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	11. Chapter 11

_The stupidity of this race never ceases to amaze me._

Ulljrex glared at the monitors in the control room that displayed images from various news networks and websites. Despite the destruction of their "mighty" carrier groups, despite Port of Spain lying in ruin, despite their leader's capitulation, the American humans still wanted to fight! He couldn't understand it. Their spirit should be broken. They should be consumed by hopelessness.

Yet they continued to resist.

Twelve American states had seceded, with a few more expected to follow soon. In spite of all his years studying humans, he could never understand that aspect of their behavior. In many nations, the subjects insulted and even disobeyed their leaders without a second thought. And those so-called leaders allowed it! How could these mud-eaters accomplish anything when they refused to bow to those in power?

Ulljrex groaned, his eyes shifting from one screen to another. In Concord, New Hampshire, a secessionist opened fire inside the federal building there, killing six and injuring five before police shot him. A group of Pennsylvania National Guardsmen attempted to storm the White House, only to be gunned down by the President's bodyguards. US Government agents had tried to arrest the governors of both Tennessee and Mississippi when they proposed secession, only to be stopped by a force of state police and National Guardsmen. Many American military forces had switched their allegiance to the newly seceded states. Several cities saw protests from people in favor of surrender. Many more were the site of rallies in support of secession.

His anger burned hotter by the second. He took this defiance as a turn of the back, an insult that in Simbaaku society usually resulted in a duel.

Sometimes, those duels ended in death.

"We have to end this," said Pelgret, who stood beside Ulljrex's seat. "These vermin must stop believing they can resist us."

"I agree. It appears Titanosaurus must teach them another lesson."

"What if the American humans don't learn from it?"

"Then we destroy another of their cities," Ulljrex snapped. "And another, and another after that. We keep destroying their cities until they finally accept defeat."

Pelgret nodded. "Which one shall we attack first?"

"Destroy one in their state of Texas," blurted General Moscoso. "That state has a history of rebellion. They wear their individualism and insolence proudly. I have watched many foreign news broadcasts. Texas is becoming a symbol of the secession movement. Send Titanosaurus there. Crush Texas, and the Americans will stop resisting us."

Ulljrex stared in silence at Moscoso. He was briefly overcome by surprise. For once, this bellicose human actually made sense.

"Texas, then." Ulljrex called up a 3-D map of the large American state and scanned its coastline. It didn't take long to pick his target. With six million people, one of the largest ports on Earth and the heart of their laughable space program, its destruction would be an enormous psychological blow to the secessionist movement.

His fingers danced across the console. A signal went out to Titanosaurus. The monster plowed through the water, heading west.

Toward Houston.

**XXXXX**

His regenerative powers took longer than normal. It had been a long time since Godzilla suffered injuries so severe. In the past, only King Ghidorah and Mechagodzilla had hurt him so gravely. He hadn't expected that from Titanosaurus. But the monster had grown more powerful since their last battle. He would remember that when next they met.

And that would be soon.

Godzilla felt the vibrations through the water and the earth. He sensed Titanosaurus heading west, toward another large human city.

He pushed himself off the sea floor and followed.

**XXXXX**

John Ruffin stood on the bow of the Austal-class patrol boat _TTS Scarlet Ibis _as itsliced through the waves. All he saw in front of him was darkness. Some seventy miles through that darkness lay the Venezuelan coast, and their target, Puerto Cabello naval base.

His worry grew with each passing minute. He tried to compartmentalize it, as he had before all his previous combat missions. But he wasn't successful. That pissed him off. He wasn't a noob at this. He'd been among the best of the best in the Marine Corps. He'd led men on critical missions before.

None of those missions, however, had this much at stake. Failure on his past missions may have resulted in the deaths of a handful to, at worst, a couple hundred people.

Failure on this mission meant the death of the entire human race.

Ruffin shivered.

"It's madness, Sir. Absolute madness."

He turned to find Sergeant-Major Best walking up to him.

"Spotty intelligence, no idea the layout of our target, personnel and assets not suited for special operations."

"Mm-hmm." Ruffin nodded.

"Not to mention all this improvisation. Can't recall any time during my tenure with the Paras when we had to raid hardware stores to make weapons."

"It is a bit out of the norm, Sergeant-Major."

"Out of the norm. It's a recipe for disaster."

Ruffin waited for Best to continue. Venting was his usual way of calming down before a mission. "Getting all the bad juju out of the system," he liked to say.

But the Brit stayed silent.

"I agree with you," Ruffin said. "This isn't how I want to go into any mission. But you know as well as I do we don't have a choice."

"Right, right. Fate of the world at stake and all that." Best sighed. "Well, at least there's one thing we can take comfort in. If we botch this up, we won't be around to hear everyone go on about what wretched soldiers we are."

Ruffin grinned briefly. "I think you've been hanging around Fetisov too much. You sound just as morose."

Best grunted.

Ruffin turned back to the darkened Caribbean Sea. The pressure continued to build from being the tip of the spear for Task Force Avenger, Chief Briggs' designation for their hastily-formed band of multi-national warriors. He glanced at his watch and held his breath.

_Almost time._

**XXXXX**

Captain Keon Norville felt his heart pound against his chest as he stared at his watch.

_Almost time._

He let out a long, silent breath as he peeked out from behind the trees he used for cover. The electrical substation that distributed power to much of northern Caracas lay just twenty yards away. Two army sentries stood near the fence, their AK-103 rifles slung over their shoulders as they chatted and smoked cigarettes. They were definitely not expecting trouble.

Little did they know.

Norville closed his eyes, attempting to settle himself. He had served five years with the Defense Force, two of them with the Special Operations Unit. He had been on numerous exercises, cross-trained with US and British elite forces, even been assigned to high profile security details.

Yet he had never fired a shot in anger.

That would change tonight.

He opened his eyes and looked at the sentries. Amazing how young they looked. Could either of them be over 20? What grief would he cause their families when –

_How much grief have the Venezuelans and those alien scum caused my country?_

Norville had no time to be sentimental. This was war. He needed to do his duty. Not just for the sake of his country, but for the entire world.

He stifled a laugh. Usually it was the militaries of America or some European country that carried out such important missions. Who could ever imagine that little Trinidad and Tobago would play such a pivotal role in the future of humankind?

_But no one will celebrate what we did if you do not succeed._

Norville closed his eyes again, thinking of the wasteland that had once been Port of Spain. He used that to motivate him.

He opened his eyes and stared at his watch.

_It's time._

Norville drew his silenced Heckler & Koch USP 9mm pistol and exhaled. He burst from his hiding place and took off at a dead run toward the sentries. He covered about five yards before they both looked up. Their eyes widened in shock.

Norville didn't break stride. He raised the pistol and fired twice. Both rounds tore apart the face of the first sentry. The remaining one reached for the strap on his rifle. Two more rounds caught him in the face.

Checking their vitals was a formality. Norville knew before he reached them they were dead. He pulled out his bolt cutters and severed the lock to the chainlink gate. He quickly attached blocks of C4 throughout the substation, then hurried away. When he reached the small rise a quarter mile away, Norville got out his detonator and triggered the explosives. Sparks and small fireballs shot up form the substation. In the distance, thousands of lights flickered off, as if someone had thrown a dark blanket over northern Caracas.

Over the next few minutes, other explosions erupted throughout the Venezuelan capital. The three other members of his Special Operations Unit team had set off their charges. Targets included the Federal Legislative Palace, the headquarters of the state-owned oil company, two police stations, and the Ministries of Interior and Justice, Telecommunications, and Communications and Information. They didn't have enough C4 to destroy any of the buildings. But it would cause some damage. More importantly, the explosions would get General Moscoso's attention. That and the tour boat, yacht and two fishing boats outfitted with wooden mock-ups of guns and missile launchers. By now the Trinidadian Coast Guardsmen who piloted them had abandoned those vessels, leaving the engines running and pointing them straight at beaches north of Caracas. Norville's team would also be setting off more C4 throughout the city during the next couple of hours. That ought to convince the lunatic running this country that his capital was being invaded.

Norville hoped that would be the case. The success of this mission may well depend on it.

**XXXXX**

Lieutenant Rayad Rampaul could barely contain his excitement. The lanky pilot smiled wide, his hands flexing on the controls of his C-26 Metroliner. He'd imagined himself doing this ever since he saw _Top Gun _for the first time when he was 13. He never thought it would happen. The Air Guard's primary job was patrol. They had no combat aircraft. That fact stuck in his craw when the Venezuelans began raiding Port of Spain. He and his fellow pilots had sat on the ground while the enemy looted their capital with impunity. Any Air Guard plane that took off would be a sitting duck for a Venezuelan F-16 or SU-30. It infuriated him even more when the government brought in foreign mercenaries to fight for them.

_That's what we should be doing. We're responsible for our country's security._

Now Rampaul could do it. Granted, the Shield International people did help convert his C-26 into a true combat aircraft. Two windows on each side had been removed and turned into firing ports for machine guns, an eclectic mix of two Negevs, an old FN MAG, and an even older Bren Gun. Then there were those "special weapons" the foreigners and some army engineers came up with. He couldn't wait to use those.

If there had been a drawback, the removal of the windows meant the plane's interior had become decidedly chilly, requiring Rampaul, his co-pilot Lieutenant Sonny Simmons and the rest of the crew to wear jackets. A small price to pay for being able to hit back at the Venezuelans.

"That should be our target up ahead." Simmons pointed out the windshield.

Rampaul gazed ahead. Strings of light glowed in the darkness. He checked his instruments and nodded in satisfaction. El Libertador Air Base lay dead ahead, the home of Air Group 15, which flew light attack aircraft like the K-8 and the OV-10. They could make life difficult for the main element of Task Force Avenger at Puerto Cabello. But the base's other tenant unit, Air Group 16, could doom the entire mission. That group flew F-16 jet fighters.

Rampaul leaned forward in his seat, putting the C-26's nose right on the runway. He licked his lips, hoping that German cowboy with Shield International had the electronic jamming pod on his Phantom working full blast to foil the Venezuelan radar.

_If he didn't, I'd probably have a bunch of F-16s right in my face._

That wouldn't be good.

"Perkins. Open bomb bay doors." Rampaul couldn't help but grin. The "bomb bay doors," in reality, was simply the aircraft's rear door. But bomb bay doors sounded much cooler to say.

"Yes, Sir," replied Sergeant Perkins, the C-26's crew chief.

Rampaul heard, then felt, the blast of chill air rush through the twin-prop plane.

"Bomb bay doors open."

"Stand by to drop payload."

"Standing by."

Rampaul eased the C-26 to the right, making sure the nose was not lined up directly down the middle of the runway. His heart raced.

_I hope those things work._

He erased the doubt from his mind. They would work. They had to.

"Perkins. Release payload at your discretion."

"Yes, Sir."

"Gunners. Fire at will. Targets of opportunity."

The four gunners acknowledged the order.

Rampaul tensed as the runway flashed below him.

"Bombs away!" Perkins hollered.

Rampaul fought the urge to look over his shoulder. Instead he imagined Perkins and another crew member shove the two oil drums out the door. Inside each one were blocks of C4, mortar shells and various objects like nails, tools, silverware, coffee mugs and aluminum cans.

The machine gunners opened up. The runway vanished below Rampaul. He banked right and reversed course. The machine gunners ceased fire. Both he and Simmons looked out the window.

A brief fireball flashed around the center of the runway.

"Yes!" Rampaul cheered.

"That was just one," said Simmons. "I don't see any sign of a second explosion."

Rampaul frowned. The engineers back at Piarco warned him the improvised contact fuses on these IEDs might fail. Even so, the Venezuelans would have to remove all those C4 blocks and mortar shells, and they'd have to do it carefully. That would take time.

The second Air Guard C-26 streaked over El Libertador Air Base and dropped its payload. One IED completely missed the runway. The second exploded just next to it.

Streaks of light shot up from the ground. Rampaul stifled a gasp. Anti-Aircraft fire.

He relaxed when he noticed all the tracers were too far away to harm his C-26 or the other one. Both planes gunned their engines and flew away from El Libertador.

_And we go down in history. The first combat operation by the Trinidad and Tobago Air Guard._

They may not get high marks for accuracy, but they'd been close enough. The runway probably suffered only minor damage, but the main thing was all the shrapnel the IEDs had unleashed. Even one piece of twisted metal sucked into the intake of a jet could be disastrous. The Venezuelans would have to conduct an FOD – Foreign Object Damage – sweep of the runway, and make sure every piece of debris got picked up. And they had to do it at night. They wouldn't be finished any time soon.

Elsewhere, Shield International's other two F-4 Phantoms jammed the radars at Landaeta Air Base in Barquisimeto, home to Air Group 12's F-5s and K-8s, and Garcia Air Base in Barcelona, home to Air Group 13's SU-30 multi-role fighters. The two F-8 Crusaders, _Duck Soup_ and an Air Guard Cessna 310 dropped bombs and IEDs on the runways.

In the span of a few minutes, the bulk of the Venezuelan Air Force's combat power was grounded.

**XXXXX**

"They're taking the bait," Miranda announced as she stared at the hacked satellite image of Caracas.

Chief Briggs came over to her console on the AEW&C plane _Eclipse, _orbiting 180 miles off the Venezuelan coast. The CEO of Shield International nodded as Miranda watched the frigate _Almirante Brion _and two POVZEE-class patrol vessels leaving their stations and heading east toward the capital.

"And radar reports all of Venezuela's Combat Air Patrols are making for Caracas at top speed. I knew this would play into Moscoso's paranoia. He's gonna send every unit he can to the capital thinking it's under siege. That should take some heat off our guys."

"Not all of it." Miranda continued to stare at the screen as the satellite picked up a pair of Bell 412 helicopters taking off from Puerto Cabello, probably with squads of marines. "There's another frigate docked at the base, and two other patrol vessels around. And we still don't know where their submarines are."

"Well, let's just hope our Dutch friends can take care of them."

Miranda hoped so, too. They had lucked out in getting the _Van Speijk _to join Task Force Avenger. After dropping off its evacuees on Grenada, Briggs and Trinidad and Tobago President Wheeler flew out to the Dutch frigate to talk with its captain, Henk Borgman. He didn't need much convincing. Borgman had vivid memories from his childhood of watching Titanosaurus and Mechagodzilla lay waste to Japan. He had no desire to live under the rule of their alien masters, that is, if the Simbaaku even let him and rest of the human race live. When President Wheeler asked Borgman how his superiors might react, the captain gave a wry grin and said, "Unfortunately, there seems to be a problem with our communications preventing us from contacting The Netherlands. I shall have to use my own initiative on how the _Van Speijk _proceeds from here."

Even with the Dutch frigate, even with the Venezuelans rushing forces to Caracas, the odds were still heavily against them. But as Briggs kept saying, what choice did they have?

"Wait ten minutes," he said. "Let those ships put some distance between them and Puerto Cabello. Then we'll have our assault teams move in. Yell out if those ships turn back around."

"Yes, Sir." Miranda's brow furrowed. After spending so much time opposing Briggs, it felt strange following his orders.

She continued to monitor the progress of _Almirante Brion _and the two patrol vessels. They were still headed toward Caracas at top speed.

Miranda checked her watch. Her throat went dry as she counted the remaining minutes, the remaining seconds, until John and the others attacked Puerto Cabello.

She closed her eyes and pictured his face, recalled how she felt every time he held her.

_Please come back to me._

**XXXXX**

Ruffin answered his secure sat phone on the second ring. A French-accented voice said, "_Eclipse. _Amberian Dawn."

"Acknowledged."

He ended the call. His muscles tensed.

_We're on._

He turned around to face the twenty-plus Shield International commandos crowding the deck of the _Scarlet Ibis. _"Mount up, people. We just got the call from _Eclipse. _The way to Puerto Cabello is clear, or at least there aren't as many enemy ships to deal with. Do a final gear check and get the RHIBs in the water. We head out in five minutes."

"Yes, Sir," the others responded.

"Sergeant Jellicoe, tell the captain to send the 'go' signal to the _Chaconia _and the _Nelson._"

"Yes, Sir." Jellicoe wound his way through the commandos to get to the bridge.

Ruffin checked his gear. With his G36 rifle beneath the waters of Port of Spain, he took a loaner weapon from the Defense Force. A Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun. Compact, reliable, good rate of fire, and better suited for the kind of close quarters fighting he expected in the Titanosaurus control complex. He also had plenty of extra magazines for it and his Glock pistol, along with frag and flash-bang grenades, C4, his KA-BAR knife, NVGs, Duct Tape, a mirror – useful for seeing around corners – and rope. Just the basics for a mission like this.

The growl from _Scarlet Ibis' _engines faded. The patrol boat bobbed in the water as Ruffin and his men got into their Rigid-Hull Inflatable Boats. Not far from them, 14 members of the Trinidad and Tobago Special Naval Unit and Special Operations Unit on _TTS Chaconia _climbed into their RHIBs. A couple miles away, 40 more Trinidadian soldiers deployed from the _Nelson, _the Coast Guard's largest vessel. They would advance inland to the junction of the two roads leading to the control complex and form a blocking force with Lieutenant McGlothen's 82nd Airborne platoon. The Americans would parachute in from a Dash-8 Q300, a twin-prop airliner commandeered from Caribbean Airlines.

Ruffin clenched his jaw. Those 80-plus soldiers would have their work cut out for them. Venezuela's 2nd Marine Brigade was just a few miles away at the naval base, and they could be easily reinforced by the army's 41st Armored Brigade 30 miles to the south at Valencia. The Americans and Trinidadians had to keep those two forces from reaching the control complex. He didn't even want to calculate how badly they'd be outnumbered.

Guilt flashed through him when he thought of Jaelin. He knew the former SWAT officer wanted his pound of flesh from the Simbaaku for the death of his brother. But Ruffin felt Jaelin's sniper skills would be more useful with the blocking force than the assault force. He couldn't help but wonder if he was sending Jaelin to certain death.

_Given the odds, we're all probably facing certain death._

So long as they took out the control complex, he could live with that . . . sort to speak.

Ruffin offered up a quick prayer to Jaelin and the rest of the blocking force, and all of Task Force Avenger for that matter.

He climbed into an RHIB with Best, Fetisov, Akua, Gomez and Jellicoe. Gomez started the motor. Their boat cut through the waves, followed by six others. In the distance, seven more RHIBs carrying the Trinidadian soldiers from _Nelson _headed for shore.

Ruffin clutched his MP5, constantly scanning the sea and sky through his NVGs. No sign of enemy ships or aircraft. He hoped it stayed that way.

They'd gone a mile without incident. Nine more to go. Nine long miles. Nine miles where anything could happen.

He continued scanning for threats.

Eight miles to go. Seven. Six. Everything was fine. Maybe it'd stay that way.

He crushed the thought. He couldn't afford to relax for an instant, given what was at stake.

Five miles to go. Four miles. Three miles.

"Patrol boat approaching," a voice burst through his earpiece. It was Major Tinto, the CO of the Trinidadian blocking force. "Patrol boat approaching our position from the east."

"Kill engines," Ruffin ordered. "Kill engines. Get low. Get low."

Gomez shut off the engine. Everyone in the boat crouched down. Ruffin could hear his heart hammer in his chest as he peered over the gunwales. He had flashbacks of his initial recon of Puerto Cabello, when they narrowly avoided a Venezuelan patrol boat.

He prayed their luck held a second time.

Prayed . . . prayed . . .

A beam of bright white light pierced the darkness two miles away. Ice coated Ruffin's entire body. He tried to swallow but couldn't.

The beam swept back and forth over the water. Would they see the Trinidadians? Would they miss –

Orange strobes lit up the night.

"They've seen us!" Major Tinto shouted. "We're taking fire! We're taking fire!"

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	12. Chapter 12

_Why the hell am I still here?_

Marcus Jones sighed as he leaned against one of the large shipping containers that lined the Barbours Cut Terminal. The stocky, dark-skinned US Customs agent gazed around the inlet and the adjoining San Jacinto River. On any given day several ships would either be docked here or sailing upriver to other sections of the Port of Houston.

Not this day.

The port was dark and quiet. The foreign container ships that normally unloaded their goods here either headed back to their home countries or just plowed circles through the Gulf of Mexico, awaiting orders. No one seemed to know what to do. The US had surrendered to the Venezuelans and the Simbaaku, but Texas was no longer part of the US. The rest of the world didn't know how to treat this state, or any of the others that seceded.

Jones had no idea where the secession left him. He was an agent of the US Government, which Texas no longer recognized. He didn't even know if Customs and Border Protection could exist under the surrender terms, or if those terms applied to him being in Texas.

Most importantly, would he still get a paycheck? Despite all the craziness with aliens and monsters and surrendering, he still had to make rent, pay his bills and eat. He thanked God he was single with no children. What would he do if he had a family to take care of with the world going to shit?

Jones figured he'd keep showing up for work until the end of the week. If he got his check, cool. If not, he'd do what many of the other Customs agents here had done. Walk out.

His brow furrowed. Even if he did get paid, was US currency worth anything any more? President Atherton's surrender had plunged world financial markets into chaos. The dollar was in the toilet. How the hell was anyone going to . . .

A rushing sound caught Jones' attention. He pushed himself off the container and looked out at the San Jacinto River.

_What the hell is that?_

An enormous wake barreled toward Barbours Cut. It exploded into a mountain of water. Jones stumbled back, mouth agape. Fear overwhelmed him.

Titanosaurus' trumpeting roar blew out his eardrums. Jones cried out in pain, turned and ran. A quake blasted through the ground. He fell, and tried to push himself up when a second quake knocked him back down.

Titanosaurus roared again as he kicked several shipping containers, sending them spiraling through the air.

One of those containers landed on Marcus Jones and crushed him to a pulp.

**XXXXX**

Ruffin grimaced as he saw more tracers rip through the darkness two miles away. Flashes of oranges flickered across the surface of the water. The Trinidadians firing back at the Venezuelan ship.

"So much for surprise, Sir," said Best. "What now?"

Ruffin continued to stare at the distant battle. It would take a few minutes to reach the Trinidadian soldiers. Even when they did, what could they do? The heaviest weapons they had were grenade launchers. They wouldn't do much good against a warship.

There was also a matter of priority, and priority was to take out the control complex. Nothing else mattered.

He tried to rid himself of the guilt over abandoning fellow warriors, especially when one of them was Jaelin.

_They all know the score. So long as the Simbaaku and Venezuelans control Titanosaurus, we're screwed._

"Make for the complex. Top speed. With the element of surprise gone, we gotta get there ASAP."

Gomez gunned the engine. Their RHIB, along with the others, shot across the waves. Ruffin shifted his gaze from the silhouette of the coastline to the distant battle. Fiery contrails rose from the water, followed seconds later by explosions. He guessed the Trinidadians used their Carl Gustav 84mm recoilless rifles.

"Jaelin, Ruffin," he radioed the sniper, praying he would answer. "SITREP."

"We got made, Sir. It was one of their BVL type corvettes. Two RHIBs sunk, at least six dead and two wounded. We put a few rockets into their bridge and hull. They're backing off and we're headed to shore."

"Roger that. Be ready for a welcoming committee."

"Same to you guys."

Ruffin turned back ahead, propping his MP5 on the RHIB's bow. The massive opening to the hardened shelter drew closer. At least a mile to go.

Blobs of light appeared inside the shelter.

"That can't be good," said Gomez.

"Akua, check it out."

The native of Nauru pressed a nightscope to his eye. "There are enemy soldiers on the walkways. Anywhere from eight to ten on each side."

Ruffin snorted, then got on the radio. "All boats. We've got enemy soldiers on both walkways. Maintain course. Repeat, maintain course. All grenadiers to the bow. Pop frags at one hundred meters. After that, everyone open up with everything you've got. We're gonna have to bull our way in."

He gripped his MP5 tighter. The massive opening loomed before them. Four hundred meters. Three hundred. Two hundred.

"Major!" Akua hollered, the nightscope up to his eye. "I think I see someone in a silver jumpsuit. Port walkway."

Ruffin held his breath. Silver jumpsuit. That had to be a Simbaaku.

_Oh shit. They pack –_

A thin blue beam shot from the opening.

**XXXXX**

Captain Borgman sensed the tension permeating the red-lit space of _Van Speijk's_ combat information center. He could see it in the eyes and the body language of the men sitting at their consoles. They were nervous.

_I'm nervous._ This would be the first true combat experience for them all. Yes, he and several others had conducted anti-piracy operations around the Horn of Africa. But chasing down skiffs filled with AK-47 toting criminals couldn't compare to this.

Borgman took a deep breath and attempted bolster his confidence. _Van Speijk _may not be the newest ship in the Royal Netherlands Navy, but she was still very capable. The ship carried eight Harpoon anti-ship missiles, 16 Sea Sparrow anti-air missiles, four torpedo launchers, a 76mm gun, a 20mm cannon, a Goalkeeper close-in weapons system, and an NH90 anti-submarine helicopter. All in all, a very formidable arsenal.

Not that it seemed that way when potentially faced with the Venezuelan navy's 11 warships and two submarines, and their air force's 59 combat planes and nine attack helicopters.

_Hopefully we will be finished here before General Moscoso can send them all after us._

Hopefully.

Borgman eyed one of the monitors in the front of CIC, the one that showed the hacked satellite feed from the CIA woman working for Chief Briggs. Ant-like figures of Venezuelan sailors hurried toward the frigate _General Soublette _and the BVL-class corvette _Guaicamacuto_, both docked at Puerto Cabello. Two other vessels sat beside them, a supply ship and a landing craft. Sailors swarmed around them, too, but with only machine guns and light cannons, he didn't consider them much of a threat.

At least, not yet.

Borgman then stared at the image of the corvette _Yavire, _burning in the water courtesy of some Trinidadian anti-tank missiles. He debated whether or not to target the ship. He only had eight Harpoon missiles, and the frigate and patrol boats on their way to Caracas would likely turn around when the Venezuelans caught on to their deception. Could he afford to waste one of his precious anti-ship missiles on a damaged vessel?

_Just because it's damaged does not mean it cannot fight._

"Lieutenant Geerligs," Borgman said to his weapons officer. "Target one Harpoon each on the Venezuelan frigate and patrol boat docked at Puerto Cabello. Also target the damaged patrol boat."

"Yes, Captain. Targeting enemy frigate and patrol boats."

The seconds passed slowly before Geerligs spoke again. "One Harpoon each locked on enemy frigate and patrol boats."

Borgman clasped his hands behind his back, forcing his face into a stoic mask. "Fire."

"Yes, Captain. Harpoon One away."

A shudder went through _Van Speijk _as the 691-kilogram missile blasted out of its launcher. Two more Harpoons followed. Silence hung over the CIC as Borgman's eyes flickered between the missile tracks on the radar screen and the satellite image of Puerto Cabello.

A bright flash blotted out the burning _Yavire. _Borgman gave a slow nod of satisfaction. A few of the men in CIC let out audible breaths. No one cheered. They had just killed more than 60 people. That wasn't something to cheer about. It was something that, due to circumstances, they had to do.

The satellite feed showed a streak of light, then a huge fireball rising from the Venezuelan frigate. Seconds later the other patrol boat exploded.

Borgman relaxed, but only for a moment. They had destroyed three enemy ships, but more were still out there, including the two Type 209 submarines. Nobody knew their locations. That made him nervous.

Submarines made all surface commanders nervous.

_Van Speijk's _helicopter was searching the area for the subs. Hopefully the crew could locate and destroy them before they could attack. If anything happened to his ship or the Trinidadian vessels, their ground troops would be stuck in enemy territory.

"Captain," called out Lieutenant van Lente, _Van Speijk's_ communications officer. "We have a message from _Eclipse. _They detected a convoy of vehicles leaving Puerto Cabello and heading for the control complex. They want us to move closer to shore for a fire support mission."

**XXXXX**

"Lieutenant McGlothen."

He turned to the stout Trinidadian with flecks of gray in his hair. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"Message from _Eclipse, _Sir," said retired Sergeant Latapy, a 20-year veteran of the Air Guard who'd been pressed into service to act as crew chief on the Dash-8 Q300 transporting McGlothen's platoon. "A convoy of Venezuelan marines has left Puerto Cabello en route to the control complex. At least company-strength. The _Van Speijk _is currently shelling them, but they say you should still expect a hot LZ."

McGlothen forced himself not to swallow. "Thank you, Sergeant."

Latapy nodded and headed back down the aisle, maneuvering around 82nd Airborne soldiers.

McGlothen clenched his teeth, his stomach forcing its way toward his throat. _Oh please don't puke._

He caught the platoon sergeant staring at him. McGlothen forced down the creeping bile and straightened his shoulders, at least as much as the 50-pound parachute strapped to his back allowed him.

"Nobody ever said our job was easy," lamented Sergeant First Class Espinosa.

"You can say that again, Sergeant."

The short, compact platoon sergeant took a step toward him, his dark eyes drilling into McGlothen's. "You'll do fine, Sir. Remember your training, follow your instincts, keep your cool no matter what, and we'll win the day."

McGlothen nodded. "I will, Sergeant. Thank you." He looked around the Q300 interior. "I never thought I'd have my first combat jump in a plane like this."

Espinosa shrugged. "This is how the guys back in World War Two did it, jumpin' out of those old C-47s. Think of it as harkening back to the Eighty-Second's roots."

McGlothen couldn't help but smile. His nervousness eased.

At least for a few seconds, until Sergeant Latapy shouted, "Five minutes from jump! Five minutes from jump! Check your chutes! Check your chutes."

McGlothen turned his back to Espinosa so the sergeant could examine his T-10 parachute.

"You're good, Sir!" Espinosa slapped him on the shoulder.

The paratroopers hooked up their static lines. McGlothen felt sweat drench his face as the Q300 lumbered closer to Venezuela.

Latapy opened the rear side door. Gale force winds ripped through the compartment, dropping the temperature in seconds.

Still McGlothen couldn't stop sweating.

"Stand in the door!" Latapy hollered.

McGlothen waddled up to the door, the wind battering his entire body. He grimaced and squinted. Two huge orange balls lit up the distance. He assumed them to be the Venezuelan warships _Van Speijk _had destroyed. Now he didn't have to worry about them putting to sea and shelling him and his men.

Of course, there were still plenty of other things to worry about with this last-minute oper-

"GO!" screamed Latapy.

McGlothen didn't even think. He just leapt through the door. A rush of fear and excitement went through him as he went into free fall. Then came sudden jerk as the chute deployed. McGlothen grunted, then refilled his lungs. He grabbed the straps of his chute and scanned around him. Fire consumed two ships docked at the naval base. He spotted a third fire in the water. More circles of flame dotted the ground below, probably from _Van Speijk's_ shelling. They would have stopped now, not wanting to risk a friendly fire incident. He took all the flames as a good sign. Maybe the Dutch blew the hell out of all the Venezuelan marines. Or at least most of them. It would make things easier for the platoon when they hit the ground.

Laser-like tracers flew up from the ground toward McGlothen and his paratroopers.

**XXXXX**

"This is News Chopper Thirteen reporting live over Barbours Cut, or rather what's left of it."

Reporter Neil Haney feared for a brief moment the comment might have been insensitive. But another look at the fires and wreckage below convinced him the comment was justified.

"Just minutes ago, Titanosaurus emerged from the San Jacinto River and destroyed this terminal. The last report we had was that the alien-controlled monster is approaching Houston proper. The Texas Air National Guard has barred all civilian traffic from the city's air space. We'll try to get as close to Houston as possible to broadcast this . . . developing situation."

Haney winced at the word. _Developing situation. How about disaster in the making. _And the worst part was he couldn't get anywhere near it. Live coverage of a monster attack on Houston would punch his ticket to the network.

_No it wouldn't. _He had to stop thinking like that. With the country torn apart by secession and surrender, he had no idea where things stood with his network, or any of the others.

Screw it! He couldn't think about that stuff right now. He had a story to cover. The biggest story of his career.

"We're still awaiting word on casualties from Titanosaurus' initial attack. What we do know from government officials in both Houston and Austin is that evacuation of Houston is impossible. All citizens are being urged to seek shelter in basements, and all police, firefighters, EMT and other emergency personnel have been called up. National Guard units have been dispatched to Houston, but given what happened recently in the Caribbean, it's hard to think . . ."

Something in the water caught his eye. He ordered the pilot to swing around to the right.

"We just spotted a large wake heading toward shore. I don't see any ship on the water. Maybe it's a submarine, but it would have to be a very large submarine to make a wake li-"

An enormous dark shape exploded out of the water.

"Oh . . . my . . . God."

Even over the thumping of the helicopter's rotors, Haney could just make out the distinctive roar of Godzilla as he stomped ashore.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	13. Chapter 13

The laser beam sliced through one of the RHIBs. Ruffin heard an agonized scream come from the lightweight boat. Muzzle flashes rippled through the cavern in front of him. Another laser beam streaked through the air and struck the water.

"Open fire!" Ruffin hollered into his radio. "Grenadiers, concentrate fire on hostile in silver jumpsuit. He's Simbaaku."

A third laser hit another RHIB. Two anguished cries erupted from that boat. Little spouts of water kicked up around them from Venezuelan AK rounds.

Gunfire roared from the Shield International and Trinidadian forces. Tracers criss-crossed over the water. Deep thumps from grenade launchers joined the cracks and pops of assault rifles and submachine guns. Another laser beam cut through the air, but missed their RHIB.

Fountains of water rose from inside the cavern where grenades landed. Two flashes went off along the port catwalk. A couple of Venezuelan marines tumbled over the railing and into the water.

Another laser beam indicated they hadn't hit the Simbaaku.

Bullets cracked around him. Two pinged off the RHIB's hull. Ruffin pulled the trigger of his MP5 until it ran dry. He rammed home a fresh magazine as Fetisov fired the grenade launcher under the barrel of his G36 rifle.

AK rounds pinged and thudded against their RHIB. Gomez grunted and twitched, then slumped to his side.

"I've got him!" Best crawled over to give the former SEAL first aid. "Akua, take control of the boat!"

Ruffin pushed aside his worries for Gomez. He just kept firing his MP5. The best way to help Gomez was to take out the security force in the hardened shelter.

Fetisov launched another grenade. Another. The assault force was roughly 40 meters from the opening. More bullets struck their RHIB. A laser beam sizzled just a few feet from Ruffin's head. He sighted the Simbaaku and fired three bursts. The alien remained standing. Damn bulletproof suits. They'd better –

A grenade burst at the Simbaaku's feet. He spun around and smashed into the rock wall behind him. The laser pistol fell from his grasp and clattered over the edge of the walkway into the water.

More grenades exploded along the walkways. The surviving Venezuelans retreated through the exits on both sides, slamming the doors behind them.

A brief feeling of relief swept through Ruffin. He quashed it. He had nothing to feel relieved about. Their mission had barely begun.

Akua steered the RHIB alongside the walkway. Ruffin swung around. "Gomez!"

Best looked at him and shook his head. "Sorry, Sir. He's gone."

Grief swelled inside him. Another member of his team, dead. How many more would he lose before this was over?

_Now's not the time for that._

He called for a casualty report. Shield International suffered two dead, including Gomez, and four wounded. The Trinidadians had one dead and three wounded. Ruffin left Linc to tend to the injured men, and assigned four members of Trinidad's Special Naval Unit to guard the shelter. He then looked at the fallen Simbaaku. Blood the color of oil flowed from his neck and face. His human mask had dissolved. In its place was the Simbaaku's true, gorilla-like face.

One less alien to deal with.

Ruffin headed for the door at the far end of the walkway and checked for booby traps. Finding none, he carefully tried the handle. Locked.

Not a problem.

He attached a small brick of C4 just under the handle and shoved in a blasting cap. Everyone backed up about 15 feet.

"Fire in the hole!"

Ruffin hit the detonator. A sharp bang erupted from the door. It swung open a couple of feet. Akua and Jellicoe rushed up to the door and chucked hand grenades into the corridor. Seconds later they went off.

Ruffin used his mirror to check around the doorway. Two Venezuelan marines lay still in the corridor. No sign of any other threats.

He turned to the rest of the commandos. "Let's go."

**XXXXX**

Lieutenant McGlothen pissed his pants. He trembled as he slowly descended through the night sky, tracers flashing all around him. His heart hammered against his chest as he waited for one of them to tear through him. Would it hurt? Would it be quick?

His chute seemed suspended in mid-air. He urged it to go faster, to get him to the ground where he could find cover.

McGlothen took quick breaths as he stared at the darkened ground. Was it getting closer?

Two rounds cracked by and punched through his parachute.

"Oh God, come on!"

The ground rushed up toward McGlothen. He forced his body to go limp a second before his boots struck solid earth.

He scrambled to his knees, grabbing his M4 with one hand and undoing his harness with the other.

That's when he heard loud voices nearby, voices speaking Spanish.

A chill went through McGlothen as he saw the silhouettes of two men running toward him. Each carried a rifle with a curved magazine.

_Bad guys._

Training took over. McGlothen brought up his M4 and squeezed off a three-round burst. The first man stumbled. A second burst put him down. His partner fired at the same time as McGlothen. He heard rounds warble past him. The enemy soldier arched his back and collapsed.

Sweat soaked McGlothen. His hands shook as the roar of gunfire filled his ears

_Don't fall apart. You're an officer._

He took a cleansing breath. The first thing he had to do was assemble the platoon. The second was to neutralize the Venezuelans. Nothing else mattered until he accomplished those two things.

McGlothen slid out of his harness and hurried off, ducking behind trees and bushes. The road lay 40 yards away, lit up by muzzle flashes. He counted between 30 to 40 marines, two transport trucks, and a squat, six-wheeled EE-11 armored personnel carrier with a marine firing a .50 caliber machine gun into the air.

At his men!

McGlothen almost fired at the marine in the APC, but stopped himself. If he missed, every single Venezuelan would turn his attention on him, and he'd be dead. He had to find more paratroopers before he could launch a counter-attack.

He left his cover and sprinted around a smoldering crater, probably created by one of the _van Speijk's_ 76mm shells. A parachute fluttered along the ground nearby.

"Duke!" McGlothen called out the challenge, expecting to hear the response, "North Carolina," based on one of college basketball's biggest rivalries.

There was no response.

McGlothen gripped his M4 tighter as he approached the parachute. He saw a man lying on his side, still in his harness. He bent down and rolled him over.

A young, dark-skinned man stared back at him with dead eyes. McGlothen recognized him. Corporal Burke. Rounds had torn open his torso and throat.

McGlothen turned away and puked.

_Are they all dead? Am I the only –_

The distinct cracks of M4 rifles split the air. McGlothen spun around. He spotted three shadowy figures firing from behind an earthen berm at the Venezuelans.

He sprang to his feet and ran over to them. "Duke! Duke!"

One of the men turned around. "North Carolina!"

That confirmed it. They were 82nd Airborne.

McGlothen flopped down on his stomach next to them just as an AK round warbled over his head.

"That you, Lieutenant?" One of the men asked. McGlothen recognized him instantly. Sergeant James. With him were Privates Sutherland and Gonzalez.

"Affirmative, Sergeant." McGlothen put his sights on a Venezuelan firing near the rear of a truck. It took three bursts to take him down. "Have you been able to find anyone else from the platoon?"

"Campbell and Darwin. Looks like they bought it before they hit the ground."

A lump formed in McGlothen's throat. He shook off the deaths. If he didn't get his shit together more of his men would die.

"We can't stay here. We have to make contact with more of our men. Once we have enough we can launch a more coordinated counter-attack."

"Priority should be finding the guys with heavy weapons," said James. "We're not going to win this with just rifles."

"I agree."

Before McGlothen could give an order, orange strobes flashed among the trees to his left. The Venezuelans turned much of the fire in that direction.

"Looks like some more of our guys made it," said Gonzalez.

A deep _chug-chug-chug _cut through the never-ending pops of AK fire. The .50 cal. McGlothen watched its tracers streak toward the paratroopers in the woods.

"They ain't gonna last long with that fifty cal goin'," James noted.

McGlothen looked at the sergeant. James was right. No counter-attack would succeed while that heavy machine gun was operational. He looked over at the treeline, hoping to see one of his men loose an anti-tank rocket. None appeared. His throat went dry as he turned back to the EE-11. The gunner kept up a steady stream of fire.

They had to take out that machine gun. Now!

"James, Sutherland, Gonzalez. We're gonna work our way around the Venezuelans' right flank. When we get close to that APC, I'll toss some grenades at the machine gunner. You three cover me. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir," Sergeant James replied.

Sutherland and Gonzalez looked scared, but acknowledged McGlothen.

The four paratroopers sprinted away from the berm. McGlothen slung his M4 over his shoulder and pulled out two grenades. James and the two privates fired quick bursts as they ran, stopping briefly for cover behind trees or bushes or inshell craters. Some of the craters had bodies or parts of bodies around them.

They dashed toward a tree about twenty yards from the EE-11. AK rounds warbled through the air or punched into the ground.

Three of them struck flesh. Gonzalez gasped and fell. Sutherland blazed away while James checked on the fallen private.

"He's dead."

"Keep moving!" McGlothen turned away from Gonzalez. He couldn't afford to look at him, or think about him right now.

Bullets smacked against the tree. McGlothen peeked around it. The machine gunner continued to hose down the paratroopers on the other side of the road, his back to him.

_It's now or never._

"Cover fire!"

James and Sutherland opened up. McGlothen pulled the pins on both grenades, tensed, and jumped out in the open. He threw one grenade, then the second, and dove back behind the tree. The first grenade exploded next to the EE-11's right center wheel. The second detonated on the vehicle's deck. The gunner threw his hands up over his head and tumbled to the ground.

"Yeah! Got him!" cheered Sutherland.

A stocky Venezuelan yelled and pointed emphatically at McGlothen and his men. Seven more marines turned toward them, AK-103s raised.

McGlothen swore he heard a crack in the distance. The stocky Venezuelan's head snapped back. A dark mass burst from his skull. The marines gawked at him, frozen in shock.

A second shot rang out. Another marine had his brains blown out. So did a third before the remaining ones found cover.

McGlothen turned around. Dozens of figures rushed from the trees and opened fire on the Venezuelans. They had to be from the Trinidadian Regiment.

Caught in the crossfire, the marines' numbers dwindled until less than twenty remained, half of whom were injured. That's when raised arms and white handkerchiefs appeared.

McGlothen, James and Sutherland advanced with the Trinidadians and secured the prisoners. He noticed one man out of place with the Trinidadians. He wore a leaf and grass covered ghillie suit and carried a Remington 700 rifle. That had to be the sniper from Shield International, Jaelin. McGlothen assumed he'd been the one to take out those Venezuelans right before the Trinidadians showed up.

"Lieutenant McGlothen! You around, Sir?"

"Over here, Sergeant!" Relief flooded him as he thanked God Sergeant First Class Espinosa had made it through.

"Is the rest of the platoon assembled?" McGlothen asked when Espinosa stood before him.

"What's left of it. We've got ten KIA, six wounded and two MIA."

"You can add two more to the KIA tally. Burke and Gonzalez." McGlothen clenched his teeth, praying he kept the worry off his face. They'd been on the ground barely 15 minutes and had lost nearly half the platoon.

"I'm sorry to bring you more bad news, Sir, but Giordano was one of the ones killed. He was carrying one of our Javelin launchers. The tube took two rounds. It's out of commission."

"Dammit." McGlothen scowled. He stared at the road leading to the south, to Valencia 30 miles away, where the 41st Armored Brigade was based. The Javelin anti-tank missile was the only weapon they had capable of destroying a Venezuelan AMX-30 main battle tank. Instead of having two, they were now down to one.

"We should scrounge the Venezuelans equipment," Espinosa suggested. "See if they have any heavy weapons we can use."

"Good thinking, Sergeant." McGlothen pointed to the EE-11. "That fifty caliber there should still be in good shape. Put a man on it."

"Yes, Sir."

"And start placing our IEDs on the road. We're bound to have company from Puerto Cabello soon."

"Yes, Sir."

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" A solidly-built young man carrying a SINCGARS field radio unit on his back hustled up to him.

"What is it, Corporal?"

Corporal Spillman, McGlothen's radioman, answered, "Message from _Eclipse. _Satellite's picked up another convoy of marines leaving Puerto Cabello, headed here. Six trucks, two jeeps and two APCs."

McGlothen just stared at Spillman in silence. It appeared they'd be having company sooner than expected.

**XXXXX**

Massive fireballs rose around Titanosaurus as he stomped through oil refineries and petrochemical plants in Pasadena. Thousands of people on the Pasadena Freeway, which had now become a parking lot, abandoned their vehicles and made a mad dash for safety. Most of them never made it, crushed beneath the monster's enormous feet.

The flames spread beyond the refineries and plants, setting neighborhoods, business parks and shopping plazas ablaze. Noxious smoke sickened thousands, and killed hundreds with respiratory ailments. The scope of the disaster overwhelmed Pasadena's police, fire and EMT personnel, at least the ones who survived Titanosaurus' attack.

The monster roared as it neared Houston. Despite the warnings from the Texas government for civilians to hunker down in basements or other forms of shelter, the majority of the city's six million residents tried to flee. It didn't take long before all the roads leading out of the city became gridlocked.

Titanosaurus waded across Buffalo Bayou. The Port of Houston Industrial Complex lay in his path. The monster crushed buildings, vehicles and shipping containers flat as it advanced toward Houston.

A rumbling sound filled the air. Titanosaurus paused and looked up. Six F-16s of the Texas Air National Guard rocketed through the night sky and dove on the monster. He roared, raised both hands, and fired his talons. All the kinetic-energy projectiles missed. Sleek, dark objects fell from the F-16s. Paveway laser guided bombs. Eight exploded against Titanosaurus. He just roared and continued on.

The F-16s continued their attack. Bombs, missiles and 20mm shells rained down on Titanosaurus. None of it slowed him down. One of the F-16s crossed in front of Titanosaurus. A swat of his right hand disintegrated the fighter.

When he reached the outskirts of Houston, Titanosaurus roared and turned around. The fin on his tail sprouted. He whipped it back and forth. Hurricane-force winds screamed through the city like a banshee. Vehicles and people spiraled through the air and smashed into buildings and lampposts. Windows exploded. Hundreds of thousands of glass shards streaked through the air, shredding anything in their path. Buildings toppled over. Houses and trees were ripped out of the ground.

Within minutes, Houston's Second Ward had been reduced to rubble, with most of its 14,000 residents dead or injured.

Titanosaurus roared and continued deeper into the city. He swung his tail back and forth. Each swipe shattered dozens of homes and buildings. As Titanosaurus neared the Eastex Freeway, he launched a barrage of talons. Overpasses exploded. Hundreds of cars and people tumbled through the air and slammed into the ground. More talons tore apart the gleaming steel and glass structure of the George R Brown Convention Center.

Tremors rippled through the ground. Titanosaurus halted his attack and turned east. A towering dark shape marched toward him, illuminated by the glow of hundreds of fires throughout Houston.

Titanosaurus roared.

Godzilla roared and unleashed a gusher of atomic fire.

**XXXXX**

Captain Borgman stared at the monitor showing the CIA satellite feed as one of _van Speijk's _76mm shells exploded near the marine convoy. He heard and felt another thump from the gun when Lieutenant Yrlund, the air warfare officer, called out, "Two aerial contacts taking off from Puerto Cabello. Identified as Mi-17 helicopters."

"Bearing?"

"They are over the water, approaching our position, ten kilometers out."

Borgman clenched his jaw. He hesitated using any of his Sea Sparrow surface-to-air missiles against helicopters. Their 76mm gun could easily take care of the Mi-17s. He'd rather hold on to the missiles in the event they had to deal with enemy jets.

But the American and Trinidadian ground troops were depending on that gun for fire support. Without it, they risked being overrun.

"Yrlund. Target Sea Sparrows on enemy helicopters."

"Yes, Captain. Sea Sparrows locked on targets."

"Fire."

"Firing. Missile one away . . . missile two away."

Borgman watched the missile tracks. The Mi-17s went into a series of sharp turns. Green clouds blotted out parts of the screen. Aluminum chaff, designed to fool the SAMs' radar.

It didn't. Both missiles connected with the Venezuelan helicopters. Two flares appeared on the satellite image, then vanished a few seconds later.

The 76mm gun banged away. A couple of shells struck the road ahead of the marine convoy, cratering it. One of the EE-11s tried to drive through it and got hung up. Another shell obliterated the APC.

The rest of the convoy halted. Marines jumped out of their vehicles and scattered in the woods. More shells came down on them.

"Sub-surface contact!" hollered Sergeant Mickers, _van Speijk's _chief sonar operator. "Bearing zero-five-seven, fifteen hundred meters."

A flash of fear went through Borgman. It had to be one of the Venezuelan subs. "Vector our helicopter to that position."

"I have torpedo tubes opening," Mickers reported. "Two torpedoes in the water! Two enemy torpedoes in the water!"

**XXXXX**

Ruffin peered around the corner. Two Venezuelan marines lay dead in the corridor, victims of the grenades he and Fetisov had thrown half-a-minute before. He had hoped one of them might be wounded and alive. They needed intel on the exact location of the control room. Ruffin figured it had to be four or five floors up. Maybe six. Hell, he had no idea how far up the complex went. No one did.

He resisted the urge to curse. People in his line of work hated going into a situation like this without knowing the layout of their target. Unfortunately, developing that sort of intelligence took time, and time was something they didn't have.

Ruffin and the other commandoes moved down the corridor without encountering resistance. He came to a door leading to a stairwell and opened it. Both he and Fetisov swept the space with their weapons. Clear. The Men proceeded up the stairs until they reached the door for the fourth floor. Could the control room be on this floor? Ruffin felt it should be higher. Still they had to be sure.

He stood alongside the frame, pushed the door open, and swung around, MP5 up.

The silver-suited form of a Simbaaku filled his vision.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	14. Chapter 14

Titanosaurus fell onto the remains of the convention center, flames and smoke billowing from his chest. Millions of nanobots converged on the damaged area, covering over burned flesh with new skin.

The alien-controlled monster roared and struggled to sit up. Godzilla's tail whipped around and clubbed the side of Titanosaurus' head. He rolled over two city blocks, crushing buildings and vehicles.

Titanosaurus pushed himself to his feet. Godzilla charged and smashed into him. Arms flailing, Titanosaurus stumbled backwards. He crashed through Minute Maid Park, shattering the third base side grandstands and destroying part of the beige brick wall in left field.

Godzilla roared and rushed up to Titanosaurus. He kicked the monster in the side and sent him soaring into right field. The stands and retractable dome exploded in a cloud of plastic and metal. Titanosaurus struck the ground and rolled over several buildings before coming to a stop at Franklin Street. Godzilla crouched and leapt over the ruins of Minute Maid Park. He crashed down on Titanosaurus, driving him through the street. Gaslines ruptured. Fireballs shot into the air all around the monsters. Godzilla roared and stomped on his foe. Titanosaurus swatted at his leg, ripping off chunks of skin. Godzilla ignored it and brought down his foot on Titanosaurus' chest, again and again.

The fallen monster reached up and grabbed Godzilla's foot. He pushed, sending his adversary flying backwards. Tremors shook downtown Houston when Godzilla struck the ground.

Titanosaurus rose and turned his back to Godzilla. He swung his tail back and forth. Godzilla fought a losing battle to get to his feet against the hurricane-force winds. Chunks of wrecked buildings pounded his thick green hide.

Titanosaurus spun around. His tail settled. The winds stopped. He roared and charged Godzilla. The other monster tried to get up when Titanosaurus buried a foot in his gut.

**XXXXX**

"Yes . . . Yes!" Ulljrex's fingers stabbed at the controls in front of him. "Kill him. Kill Godzilla once and for all."

"Commander."

"What?" Ulljrex turned to a tall Simbaaku to his left.

"The American President has contacted us," reported Fikduth. "He wishes for us to cease our attack on Houston before more, in his words, innocent life is lost."

Ulljrex growled. "I don't care what that spineless mud-eater wants. Ignore him. I have a city to destroy, and an Earth monster to kill."

"Commander Ulljrex," said the other Simbaaku in the control room, Murpel. "The marines from Puerto Cabello report they are unable to break through the enemy force holding the access road."

Ulljrex's disgust grew. By all accounts, the enemy numbered anywhere between 50 and 80. The Venezuelans had well over a thousand marines at Puerto Cabello. Yet they couldn't defeat the vermin sitting on that road? How incompetent were these Venezuelan humans?

Now more than ever, he regretted having to forge an alliance with Moscoso's worthless nation.

Speaking of Moscoso . . .

Ulljrex spotted the fool standing near a monitor showing the frigate _Almirante Brion _and two POVZEE-class patrol boats converging on four ships making for Caracas. Four ships that, according to all reports, were moving at barely ten knots, and had not fired a single shot at the Venezuelan capital.

Very suspicious.

"General. Order your ships to return to Puerto Cabello at once. I also want you to have every warplane currently airborne redirected here."

Moscoso swung around to face him, his face ablaze. "What? Are you mad? They're invading my capital!"

"No they are not. It is a deception, to draw your ships and jets away from here."

"A deception?" Moscoso threw his arms out to his sides. "Dozens of explosions have gone off throughout Caracas. Government buildings and military bases are in flames."

"Those reports are exaggerated."

"I will not allow my enemies to take my capital!" Moscoso stomped toward Ulljrex. The general's two bodyguards tensed, the grips on their Uzis tightening.

"Who will take your capital? The Americans? Their country is fractured and in turmoil. The Russian and Chinese humans are too far away to launch an invasion this quickly, as is NATO. And even humans are not brainless enough to invade another country with just four ships. This must be the work of the Trinidadians and their mercenaries. Caracas is a feint. This," Ulljrex pointed to the floor, "is their true objective. Now order those ships and aircraft here at once."

"You do not give me orders! I rule this country! And those ships and planes are staying in Caracas! Now go back and make your monster kill Godzilla before I have you shot!"

Rage exploded like a supernova inside Ulljrex. He held Moscoso in his burning gaze. Did this mud-eater dare to threaten him?

"Fikduth. Murpel." Ulljrex spoke in a deliberate tone and nodded toward Moscoso's bodyguards.

The two Simbaaku nodded. In a flash they were on their feet, laser pistols raised. The bodyguards managed to lift their Uzis a few inches before blue beams sliced through their chests. Moscoso watched, mouth agape, as they crumpled to the floor.

"Wha . . . What is the meaning of -"

The general turned and looked down the barrel of Ulljrex's laser pistol.

"Understand this, General. I don't care about your damn capital, not at all. This base is the only thing that matters to me and my race, and you will defend it with every resource at your disposal."

Moscoso's jaw quivered. Sweat broke out all over his face. Ulljrex resisted the urge to smile. Here was a human who spent his entire life threatening and killing others. But when someone threatened him, he trembled in fear.

General Moscoso was nothing but a coward.

"You . . . You cannot kill me. You need me. Without me you will ne-"

Ulljrex squeezed the trigger. Moscoso stiffened, smoking holes in his forehead and the back of his skull. His lifeless body teetered, then fell to the floor.

"It appears, General, that you are wrong." Ulljrex grinned as he stared at Moscoso's corpse. He then looked over to Murpel. "Tell the Venezuelan ships and aircraft around Caracas to head to Puerto Cabello immediately. In addition, order all Venezuelan army units based in Caracas to report here. I want those damn mercenaries and their friends annihilated."

"Yes, Commander. What if they question the orders?"

"Tell them they come directly from General Moscoso, and that they will be shot if they do not obey."

"Yes, Commander."

As Murpel issued the orders, Ulljrex took one last look at Moscoso's body. He had hoped to keep the general around a little while longer, at least until the entire planet was under their control. Not that it mattered. The Venezuelans would take their orders from him now. And if they had problems with that, they could take it up with Titanosaurus.

**XXXXX**

The Simbaaku just got his laser pistol out of its holster when Ruffin tackled him. They both went to the floor. Gunfire erupted around him. He saw the pistol clattering to the other side of the corridor. Ruffin rolled alongside the Simbaaku and drove the point of his elbow into his face. One, two, three times. The alien's head lolled from side-to-side. A soft moan escaped his lips.

Ruffin checked down the corridor. Two Venezuelan marines and another Simbaaku lay dead, a pool of blood forming around the alien's head. Ruffin scrambled to all fours and straddled the surviving Simbaaku.

"Best. Take some men and cover the stairwell," he ordered as he Duct Taped the alien's wrists.

"Yes, Sir."

Ruffin didn't watch the former sergeant major exit the corridor. Instead he pulled out his KA-BAR knife and slapped the Simbaaku a couple of times.

"Wake up, asshole."

The Simbaaku blinked and looked up at him.

"What's your name?"

"P-Pelgret."

"Okay, Pelgret, here's how it's gonna work. I ask you a question, you answer. Simple enough, huh?"

"I turn my back on you, human slime."

Ruffin shrugged. He assumed that to be a really bad insult for Simbaaku. "Go ahead and turn your back on me, so long as you answer -"

Muffled gunfire came from the stairwell.

"It appears we have company," said Fetisov.

Ruffin ground his teeth. His eyes narrowed at Pelgret. "Okay, I don't have time to be nice." He flashed the blade of his KA-BAR in front of the alien's face. "Where's the control room for Titanosaurus located?"

"Eat mud!"

He moved the blade closer to Pelgret's forehead. "You know what scalping is? American Indian tribes used to do it in the Nineteenth Century during the wars out west. They took a little off the top, if you know what I mean. Now, where is the control room for Titanosaurus located?"

Ruffin pressed the blade against the top of Pelgret's head.

The alien tensed. "You won't do this. You can't. You American humans have rules against torturing prisoners of war. It's in that Geneva Convention, and your country signed it."

"I don't work for the US Government any more, and since the survival of my species is on the line, I don't give a shit about the Geneva Convention."

The gunfire in the stairwell grew louder.

"Answer my question!"

"Eat mud!"

Ruffin grabbed a handful of the Simbaaku's hair. He moved the blade back and forth. Pelgret cried out as blood seeped from his scalp. Skin and hair pealed away. Ruffin felt a stab of nausea. This wasn't something he ever imagined doing. Mutilation was what psychopaths did. But weighed against the live of six billion people, his sensibilities didn't mean jack.

He continued sawing. Pelgret continued screaming.

"Fifth Floor! It's on the Fifth Floor!"

Ruffin withdrew the knife. "Where on the Fifth Floor?"

"At the end of the corridor. But it will be guarded. You'll never get in there."

"Trust me, we will. Now, how many of you Simbaaku are here?"

"Six. There were six of us left from our original mission."

Ruffin nodded. With the one nearby dead and another Simbaaku floating in the underground dock, they were down to four.

"Did you send a message to the rest of the Simbaaku about what you're doing here?"

"No. Our subspace communicators were destroyed along with our ship. We were going to use one of your primitive radio telescopes to send a message once Godzilla was dead and the Earth under our control."

A brief wave of relief swept through Ruffin. At least he didn't have to worry about an armada of Simbaaku ships headed for Earth.

"Thanks."

Ruffin got to his feet. Fetisov came over to him and whispered, "What do we do about this one?" He nodded down to Pelgret.

Ruffin looked at the alien. Hiding him in a room or closet was a risk. Someone could find him, and he'd spill the beans on them and rejoin the fight. And considering all the trouble the Simbaaku have caused Earth, he didn't want a single one of these cocksuckers walking around his planet.

He caught sight of the laser pistol lying on the floor. He picked it up and examined it.

"Let's see if those suits of theirs are laserproof, too."

Ruffin pointed the laser pistol at Pelgret and pulled the trigger.

It refused to budge.

Pelgret chuckled. "The trigger has a biometric sensor. It only works for Simbaaku. You can't use it to kill me."

Ruffin scowled, then threw away the laser pistol. "That's okay. There are other ways to kill you."

He brought up his MP5 and fired a three-round burst. Pelgret's head exploded in a mass of brains and blood. Part of him felt troubled at killing a bound, unarmed man, or alien. But the Simbaaku wanted to conquer his world, and probably wipe out the human race. In a war for survival, normal rules went out the window.

Ruffin turned to the others. "The control room's on the Fifth Floor. C'mon!"

**XXXXX**

"Explosions from the direction of the _Nelson!_ _Nelson _is hit. Repeat, _Nelson _is hit."

Invisible icy fingers clutched Borgman's chest when he heard the report from Sergeant Mickers. _Nelson _had been tasked as the main troop transport for the Trinidadian soldiers, and would evacuate them and the American paratroopers upon completion of the mission. Without it, they could be stuck in Venezuela.

Borgman shoved those concerns aside. He had to deal with the submarine.

"Vector the helicopter on the submarine's position. I want that thing taken out."

"Yes, Captain," replied the anti-submarine warfare officer, Lieutenant van der Bij.

"Enemy submarine bearing zero-nine-nine, fourteen hundred meters," announced Mickers. "Contact identified as Type 209-class."

Borgman nodded, quickly recalling what he knew about that type of sub. German design from the early-to-mid 1970s. Complement of 36, up to 22 knots submerged, and eight bow-mounted torpedo tubes. Old, but still very effective.

"Two more torpedo tubes opening," Mickers called out. "They've fired! Two enemy torpedoes, bearing one-zero-one, twelve hundred meters and closing."

"Deploy Nixie," Borgman ordered as he grabbed the phone for the bridge.

"Captain to bridge."

"Bridge."

"Hard to starboard, flank speed. Two enemy torpedoes bearing one-zero-one, twelve hundred meters and closing."

"Hard to starboard, flank speed, aye," came the reply from the bridge.

Borgman felt _van Speijk _slew to the right. Lieutenant van der Bij reported that the AN/SLQ-25 Nixie had been deployed. The towed anti-torpedo counter-measures device flooded the water with false ship sounds that, hopefully, would draw the torpedoes away from their ship.

"Enemy torpedoes one thousand meters and closing," announced Mickers. "Nine hundred meters . . . eight hundred meters."

"The chopper has a fix on the enemy sub," reported van der Bij. "Releasing torpedo."

"Enemy torpedoes seven hundred meters and closing."

"Captain, Bridge," Borgman said into the phone.

"Bridge here."

"Hard to port."

"Hard to port, aye."

Borgman gripped the nearest console as _van Speijk _made a tight left turn.

"Five hundred meters and closing," said Mickers. "Torpedo One is turning away from us. It's going for the Nixie."

"And Torpedo Two?" asked Borgman.

Mickers paused, pressing a hand against one of his headphones and staring at the electronic green waterfall image on his sonar screen. "Still on an intercept course with us. Bearing one-three-eight, three hundred meters and closing."

Nausea burned Borgman's stomach. His heartbeat filled his ears as he gripped the phone tighter.

"Captain, Bridge."

"Bridge here."

"Hard to starboard on my mark."

"Hard to starboard on your mark, aye."

Mickers called out the shrinking distance between _van Speijk _and the torpedo. "Two hundred-fifty meters . . . two hundred meters . . . one hundred-fifty meters."

Borgman held his breath, trying not to shake.

"One hundred meters . . . ninety me-"

"Mark! Mark! Mark!"

"Hard to starboard!"

Borgman leaned with the sharp turn. He tensed, praying for the torpedo to miss, while bracing for impact at the same time.

"Fifty meters . . . forty . . . thirty . . . Torpedo Two veering to port. I think it was fooled by the Nixie. Torpedo Two has passed behind us, continuing straight."

Several sighs of relief rippled through the CIC. Borgman had to resist adding his own to the mix. As captain he had an image to maintain.

"Sub-surface detonation," said Mickers. "Bearing one-four-seven, thirteen hundred meters out. I have hull-popping noises. Enemy submarine destroyed. Repeat, enemy submarine destroyed."

Borgman allowed the tension to drain from him, but only for a few seconds. "Sonar, stay alert. The Venezuelans still have one more sub left."

"Aye, Captain," Mickers replied.

"Any word from the _Nelson?"_

"The helicopter reports _Nelson_ broke in two and sank," stated Lieutenant van Lente, the communications officer.

"Any word of survivors?" asked Borgman.

"Negative."

Have the chopper search the area where the _Nelson_ went down. Also, vector the Trinidadian patrol boats to that location."

"Aye, Captain," said van Lente.

Borgman checked the monitor with the hacked CIA satellite feed. Tracers flickered back and forth through the darkened forest as the American and Trinidadian soldiers engaged the Venezuelan marines. They needed to resume their bombardment or else –

"Captain! Multiple aerial contacts inbound!"

**XXXXX**

Lieutenant McGlothen ducked down behind the shell crater and slapped a fresh magazine into his M4. He rose, drew a bead on a muzzle flash and fired. He had no idea if he hit the marine or not.

Tracers flashed through the darkness non-stop. The roar of gunfire enveloped the area. Dozens of marines advanced through the trees, taking advantage of the lull in _van Speijk's _shelling. McGlothen prayed the Dutch frigate took care of that submarine soon.

_What if the sub gets them?_

He tried not to think about that.

Mortars and anti-tank rockets exploded among the Venezuelans. Unfortunately, the Venezuelans had mortars and anti-tank rockets of their own, as evidenced by the burning wreckage of the captured EE-11, the twisted .50 caliber machine gun, and the smoldering corpse of the paratrooper who had manned it.

The contrail of another anti-tank rocket streaked from the American/Trinidadian lines and burst in the forest. Two marines flew through the air and crashed into the ground.

McGlothen bit his lip. They were running out of rounds for both their rocket launchers and mortars, and there would be no one to resupply them. The Venezuelans, however, could get more rockets and bombs back at Puerto Cabello about ten miles from here.

He squeezed off a couple of bursts. _Those commando guys better knock out that control room quick. We need to get the Hell out of Dodge._

"Lieutenant," Corporal Spillman, the radioman, called to him. "I've got Air Guard planes twenty miles out. They want to know if we need air support."

"Tell 'em hell yeah we need air support. Kellan."

A tall paratrooper with a grenade launcher under the barrel of his M4 slid over the McGlothen. "Yes, Sir."

"I want one green flare on each side of the road, seventy yards out."

"You got it, Sir."

Kellan shoved a flare cartridge into his grenade launcher, aimed to the left of the road, and fired. Seconds later he shot another flare to the right of the road.

"Spillman. Tell the pilots everything east of those flares is hostile. Hose 'em down."

"Yes, Sir." Spillman repeated the instructions to the inbound pilots.

McGlothen soon heard the roar of propellers overhead. He looked up and saw a Trinidadian C-26 Metroliner, one of the planes that attacked El Libertador Air Base, fly overhead. The twin-engine plane dipped its left wing. Tracers streaked down from its windows and laced the Venezuelan ranks. Less than a minute later a second C-26 arrived and strafed the enemy.

While McGlothen was happy for the extra firepower, he knew those light machine guns the Trinidadian planes carried didn't back the punch needed to fully stop the Venezuelan advance. He wished he could call on an AC-130 Spectre gunship with its 25mm and 40mm cannons and 105mm howitzer.

He also wished he had his entire regiment here.

While he was at it, he also wished he was married to Carrie Underwood.

None of those things were going to happen. As Chief Briggs told them back at Piarco Airport, they had to rely on whatever was available.

The C-26s returned for a second strafing run. McGlothen popped a fresh magazine into his M4 when they came in for a third run.

That's when he saw a reddish line streaking through the night sky.

_What the hell's that?_

He swallowed a breath when the realization hit him.

"Spillman! Warn the pilots! There's a missile on -"

A thunderous crash erupted above him. He looked up and saw one of the C-26s tumble toward the ground in flames.

Seconds later another missile turned the other C-26 into a fireball.

"Holy shit!" Spillman gaped at the burning remains of the Trinidadian plane falling to earth.

McGlothen noticed another reddish glow in the sky. Not a missile contrail. This came from the exhaust of two engines, which silhouetted twin tails and swept wings.

It was a Venezuelan SU-30 jet fighter, and it was diving at them.

"Geddown!" McGlothen shouted. "Everybody down!"

He crouched down in the crater as the SU-30 opened up with its 30mm cannon.

**XXXXX**

Titanosaurus roared and drove a knee into Godzilla's back. He then grabbed the monster by one of its plates, lifted it up, and slammed it into the ground. Asphalt and earth collapsed around Godzilla. Titanosaurus roared and stomped on his foe's head. Godzilla growled and tried to push himself up. Titanosaurus stomped on his head again.

Signals from the Simbaaku nearly two thousand miles away directed Titanosaurus to a nearby building. The monster ripped it off its foundation and pushed it forward. The steel and glass skyscraper slammed down on Godzilla. A gigantic cloud of dust and debris erupted and spread throughout downtown Houston.

Titanosaurus reared back its head and unleashed a triumphant roar.

That's when a rumbling came from the cloud. Titanosaurus stood his ground, eyes locked on the mass of brown.

A green head with a stubby reptilian snout poked through the dark cloud. Godzilla shook his head, then roared and stomped toward Titanosaurus.

Titanosaurus roared back and brought up its right hand. He aimed the four kinetic-charged claws at Godzilla's heart.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	15. Chapter 15

Godzilla dodged to the right just as the four hypersonic claws shrieked past him. Titanosaurus raised his left hand, ready to fire four more claws.

Maw open, Godzilla thrust his head forward. A jet of blue flame struck Titanosaurus' left arm. Flesh burned away or melted. Titanosaurus bellowed in agony and stomped in circles. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side, a gnarled, smoldering stump.

Godzilla roared and charged. He rammed a shoulder into Titanosaurus. The monster fell and smashed through Eastex Freeway. Dozens of cars were crushed, along with several few people who stayed to take pictures or shoot videos of the battling monsters instead of fleeing with the smarter folk.

Titanosaurus rolled from side to side, trying to get up. Godzilla rushed forward and kicked him. Titanosaurus flew through the air, smashing through several high rises before crashing to the ground. He grunted and started to sit up. Godzilla snatched a large chunk from a shattered building and hurled it. The debris exploded against Titanosaurus' head.

Godzilla grabbed another piece of rubble and flung it. This time Titanosaurus batted it away. The rubble smashed through a nearby high rise. The top half of the structure crumbled and rained debris on the streets below.

Titanosaurus got to his feet and roared. Godzilla roared back and advanced. Titanosaurus kicked up a storm of debris. Godzilla swatted at it. One piece struck his eye. He turned away and pawed at his face.

Titanosaurus put his head down and rushed forward. He slammed into Godzilla's chest and knocked him down.

**XXXXX**

Ruffin frowned as he looked at the mirror. The reflection from around the corner showed a corridor blocked with overturned desks and cabinets. Up to a dozen Venezuelan marines crouched behind them, one of them manning an FN MINIMI light machine gun. Behind them was a thick metal door.

He pocketed the mirror and turned to Best. "Looks like Gorilla Face was right. The control room's heavily guarded." He told the ex-British paratrooper about what he found.

"We'll have to overwhelm them with grenades," said Best.

"Even if we do, that door behind them looks pretty thick. We might not be able to get through it with C4."

"And who's to say there's not another door behind that. I'd wager those aliens have got layer upon layer of security around that room."

Ruffin groaned. Best was probably right. He stared past the Brit to the squad of men guarding the entrance to the Fifth Floor. They had managed to force the Venezuelans in the stairwell to retreat, at the cost of one Shield International member and one Trinidadian. He doubted it would be long before the marines regrouped and came after them again. And if Lieutenant McGlothen's platoon and the Trinidadians couldn't hold off the marines from Puerto Cabello, they were screwed.

So was the rest of the world.

"I don't see where we have a choice," said Fetisov. "We must go through them."

Ruffin stared at him in silence. That course of action would be suicide. But did they have a choice? They had to get into that control room, and the clock was ticking.

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to plan his assault.

That's when the idea hit him.

"You're wrong, Fets."

"How so?"

Ruffin pointed to the ceiling. "We don't have to go through them."

**XXXXX**

Major Cichero had no idea how many invaders he killed in his strafing run. Probably none. It wasn't like he had the best guidance from the marines on the ground.

He shrugged it off. Four F-5s were inbound to Puerto Cabello. They had weapons better suited for ground attack. Even the two F-16s a couple of minutes behind him carried rocket pods, which would surely kill many more invaders than his brief strafing run.

His SU-30, along with the three others in his flight, had been configured more for the air superiority role. Though each jet did carry a pair of Russian-made Kh-25 air-to-surface missiles.

And he saw the perfect target for them.

"Scarlet Flight. Enemy warship, my one o'clock, ten miles out. Engage."

The three other SU-30 pilots acknowledged the order and formed up on Cichero.

"Rincon," he said to his backseater. "Ready Kh-25s."

"Kh-25s ready. I have good . . . we're being illuminated. I-band radar."

Cichero's headphones burst to life with the voices from the other pilots of Scarlet Flight. All reported the same thing. They, too, were lit up by a fire control radar.

A flicker of orange stood out against the darkened sea. Three more soon followed.

"SAMs! SAMs! SAMs!" hollered Rincon.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Cichero slammed the control stick left. He tightened his stomach and grunted as the g-forces pressed down on his body.

"Deploying countermeasures!"

He hit the chaff button. Bundles of aluminum strips shot out from his SU-30 and fluttered through the night sky.

"SAM at two o'clock!"

Cichero banked right, _into _the missile's envelope. He ejected more chaff, then jammed the stick left. He strained turning his head, which felt like a boulder. A flash of orange streaked above the canopy.

"Miss!" Rincon grunted.

Cichero leveled out and looked around. Two artificial comets spiraled toward the water.

"Scarlet Flight, report."

"Scarlet Three, here."

No replies came from Scarlet Two or Scarlet Four. Cichero closed his eyes, the faces of their pilots and backseaters floating through his mind.

He dismissed them. He had a ship to destroy.

"Scarlet Three, re-engage enemy ship."

"Roger."

Cichero swung around his SU-30 and lined up for another shot.

That's when electronic fuzz blotted out his radar.

"We're being jammed," said Rincon. "It looks like an APECS II system. I'm burning through it."

Cichero turned away from the ship, dumping more chaff, banking every few seconds, trying to make himself the most difficult target possible.

"Jamming countered," Rincon announced. "Likely ID on the ship. Possible Karel Doorman-class frigate."

Major Cichero called up what he knew about that type of ship. Built in the Netherlands, used also by Chile, Belgium and Portugal. Could one of those countries be attacking Venezuela?

_It doesn't matter who is attacking us. I will kill them._

He circled around just as Scarlet Three launched its Kh-25s. The fiery contrails streaked over the water toward the frigate.

"I have a lock with both missiles," Rincon reported.

"Wait." Cichero watched Scarlet Three's missiles approach the frigate. Less than two kilometers and closing.

"Missiles away!" Cichero hit the fire button. The SU-30 rose several feet as both 660-pound missiles fell from their hardpoints. The rocket motors kicked in. Cichero turned away so as not to be blinded by the bright exhaust.

Tracers from the frigate streaked over the water. It had to be from the ship's close-in weapons system. Scarlet Three's missiles exploded a kilometer from their target.

Rincon picked up more jamming as the remaining Kh-25s neared the frigate. Cichero tensed as the space between the ship and the contrails lessened. Would the CWIS have time to readjust and shoot down his missiles?

One of the Kh-25s veered off, a victim of the enemy countermeasures.

The last missile crashed into the ship's bow. A huge fireball rose from the deck, right where the deck gun ought to be.

**XXXXX**

Still on his back, Godzilla unleashed a jet of atomic fire. It struck Titanosaurus in the side, driving him back. Godzilla rose and swung his tail around. It slammed into Titanosaurus, knocking him into a high rise. Debris collapsed around the monster as he fell to the ground.

Godzilla stormed through the rubble of downtown Houston and brought his foot down on Titanosaurus. He tried to stomp on him a second time, but Titanosaurus rolled out of the way. A quake ripped through the ground. Damaged buildings crumbled around them. Titanosaurus got to his feet and swung his right arm. Claws tore through Godzilla's shoulder. He bellowed as blood flowed like rivers down his torso. Titanosaurus roared and slashed him again. Again. Bloody gashes ran down Godzilla's body. He roared and pushed away Titanosaurus. The monster turned around. A fin popped up from the tip of his tail.

**XXXXX**

_Man, I hope I'm right._

Ruffin looked at the circle of C4 he, Akua and Fetisov had laid out on the floor. By his estimate, they should be right above the control room. He hoped so. They'd probably have just one shot to get this right.

He glanced at Jellicoe and three members of the Trinidadian Special Operations Unit guarding the Sixth Floor. The muffled sounds of gunfire came from the floor below. That would be Best, the other Shield International commandos, and the remaining Trinidadians taking pot shots at the Venezuelans guarding the control room. That should make them think a frontal assault was coming.

_Boy, are they in for a surprise._

"All the explosives are set," Fetisov said.

"Then let's not keep the bastards waiting."

Ruffin waved them into a restroom thirty feet from the C4. He pulled out the detonator, checked the corridor, then stepped back inside the restroom.

"Best," he radioed. "Grenades."

"Roger."

Several seconds passed. The men below would be throwing or launching grenades at the Venezuelans. Ruffin hoped all the explosions would drown out the detonation of the C4.

"Go!" Best hollered.

"Fire in the hole." Ruffin brought his thumb down on the detonator.

A roar and a tremor enveloped the Sixth Floor. Ruffin counted to three, then rushed out of the restroom, followed by the others. He stopped near the edge of the smoking hole in the floor while Akua and Jellicoe unfurled their ropes. Ruffin, Fetisov and the Trinidadian special ops guys pulled out grenades and chucked them through the hole. A series of thumps erupted seconds later. For good measure, they threw five more grenades through the hole.

After they went off, Ruffin scanned the room below with his mirror. Through the haze of grayish smoke he saw consoles and monitors and swivel chairs. He also saw several figures lying on the floor.

Ruffin turned to Akua and Jellicoe and pointed to the hole. They lowered the ropes into the control room. Ruffin and Fetisov climbed down, dropping the final couple of feet to the floor. He brought up his MP5 and scanned the room. Two Simbaaku lay unmoving, their human masks gone, replaced by gorilla-like faces. Blood flowed from their necks.

He also spotted three dead Venezuelans, two with Uzis by their sides. The other . . .

"General Moscoso," stated Fetisov.

Judging by the blackened hole in his head, Ruffin guessed the alliance between the Simbaaku and the Venezuelans had come to an end.

Another Simbaaku sat slumped against one of the consoles, blood covering face and throat. From the information Miranda provided them, he recognized the alien. Ulljrex, the leader.

The last Simbaaku on Earth.

The alien looked up at him. His mouth opened and he croaked. "No, this can't . . . it can't."

Ulljrex's head slumped forward. His human face melted away, revealing the gorilla one.

"Yes, it can, dickhead."

Ruffin looked around the room. A few of the monitors showed static or had gone black. Others showed images of Titanosaurus and readouts that appeared to be in the Simbaaku's language. One monitor displayed a live shot of a burning, ruined city. It had to be through Titanosaurus' eyes. He also noticed another massive form in the monster's line of sight just before it turned away.

Godzilla!

"What do you know? The son-of-a-bitch is still alive."

"Maybe he can kill Titanosaurus," said Fetisov.

"Well what say we give him a hand?"

The pair slapped bricks of C4 throughout the control room. When they finished, they climbed out through the hole and hurried down the corridor.

"Fire in the hole."

Ruffin set off the C4. A gusher of fire and smoke shot through the hole. He dashed back there and peered through the cloud of smoke. The control room was reduced to twisted, burning wreckage.

He pulled out the satellite phone and called Chief Briggs on board _Eclipse._

"The big show has been cancelled. Repeat, the big show has been cancelled."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	16. Chapter 16

The sudden loss of the signal from Venezuela sent a shock through Titanosaurus' system. He froze, unsure of what to do.

Godzilla took advantage. He rushed forward and grabbed Titanosaurus' tail. The monster roared and twisted from side-to-side, trying to break free.

Godzilla maintained his grip. With a roar, he bent the tail. Bone and cartilage shattered in an explosive _crack!_ Titanosaurus wailed. Godzilla reared back and flung Titanosaurus across downtown. He smashed through buildings and slammed into the ground, rolling across five city blocks.

Roaring, Godzilla rushed after the fallen monster. Titanosaurus thrashed on the ground, pounding rubble in a maddened fit of pain. Godzilla stood over him and rained down one clubbing blow after another. Titanosaurus rolled on his back and flailed, trying to knock aside his foe's arms. Godzilla continued to pound him.

Titanosaurus rolled on his side and lashed out with his one good hand. Claws sank into Godzilla's right leg. He roared and jumped back. Titanosaurus pushed himself to his feet, roared and charged. He tackled Godzilla. Both monsters crashed into a block of high rise apartments, pulverizing them.

**XXXXX**

The rumble of jet engines grew louder. Lieutenant McGlothen turned on his back and stared up at the night sky. An icy wave of fear rushed over his body as he saw four orange glows race across the sky from the west. It didn't take him long to make out their silhouettes. Skinny body, pointy nose, stubby wings. They were F-5s, better suited for ground attack than the SU-30 that unsuccessfully strafed them.

Tracers flew up from the ground as the paratroopers and Trinidadians turned their rifles and machine guns on the approaching jets. Even McGlothen joined in the barrage, though in the back of his mind he knew it was futile. Still, if he was going to be blown to bits by rockets and bombs, he'd rather go down with guns blazing than curled up in this damn shell crater.

Fear gave way to anger, anger that he had failed in his mission. Once the F-5s finished with them, the Venezuelans would overrun any survivors with ease. They'd enter the underground base, and Major Ruffin and his commandoes would be killed.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

The roar of jet engines tore through the air around him. McGlothen held his breath. This was it.

Something orange streaked across the sky and struck one of the F-5s. It turned into a fireball. Another F-5 banked to the left and spat out flares. Seconds later it exploded.

Joy burst through McGlothen as he watched a Shield International F-8 Crusader blast through the darkened sky. Four flickers of orange lit up its nose. Flame and smoke trailed a third F-5 as it tumbled toward the ground.

The fourth F-5 pulled a hard right, lit its afterburners and headed deeper into the Venezuelan interior.

Cheers went up all around McGlothen.

"To hell with cheering!" he shouted. "Keep shooting!"

He turned around and propped his M4 on the lip of the crater. Several marines advanced toward their lines.

McGlothen pulled the trigger.

**XXXXX**

"Splash one!" Marko Eder blurted from the backseat of the F-4 Phantom. "Splash one!"

"Yee-haw!" Tombstone pumped his fist as he barreled through the darkness. In the distance he watched the flaming wreckage of the Venezuelan F-16 tumble out of the sky. Seconds later the remaining F-16 exploded, courtesy of a pair of Sparrow missiles from his wingman, Ross Farmer.

"And there go all of our medium-range missiles," Eder lamented. "All we have left are Sidewinders and guns. Now we must have a knife fight with those SU-30s."

Tombstone grimaced. There was no way his old Phantom could win a head-to-head engagement with an advanced fighter like the SU-30.

Not that he was worried.

"We do not 'knife fight' them, my friend. We fight them sneaky." Tombstone grinned and got on the radio. "Bronco Flight. Form up on me and climb."

He pulled back on the stick. The massive, invisible hand created by the g-forces threatened to push him through his ejection seat. He grunted and clenched his stomach, trying to keep the blood flowing through his head. If he couldn't do that, the Gs would condense his vision into an ever shrinking circle until he blacked out.

That would not be good in combat.

At 15,000 feet, the two Phantoms and one Crusader nosed over and dove for the deck, the same tactic the Americans used early in World War II to attack Japanese Zeros, which had been far superior to their Warhawks and Wildcats.

Tombstone spotted one of the SU-30s strafing the rear of the _van Speijk. _

"Tally on one bandit. It's attacking the frigate from the rear."

"Tally on second bandit," reported Patrice Cabaye, an ex-French Navy pilot flying the F-8 Crusader. "It is wheeling around, preparing to attack the frigate's starboard side."

"Let's bushwhack them!"

Tombstone watched the SU-30 flash over the frigate. He brought the nose up little by little, the gunsight in his Phantom's Heads-Up Display leading the Russian-built fighter. It continued straight over the sea, then swung left, probably lining up for another strafing run_._

_Wait . . . wait . . ._ His finger hovered over the trigger. The sea grew closer and closer.

_Now!_

Tombstone crushed the trigger. The Phantom rattled as its 20mm gatling gun fired. Tracers cut through the night and intersected with the SU-30. Sparks jumped off the jet fighter. A ball of orange flashed over its rear. Smoke gushed from one of the engines. Seconds later a huge fountain of water exploded from the sea.

"Splash one," Tombstone announced. "Splash one."

"Splash two," radioed Cabaye.

Tombstone nodded in satisfaction, then changed frequencies. "Bronco One to _Eclipse."_

"_Eclipse. _Go."

"Good news to report. The sky around our shindig is clear of black hats."

**XXXXX**

The debris cloud blinded both monsters. Godzilla roared and blinked as dust pelted his eyes. He got to his feet, swinging his massive body from left to right, desperately searching for his foe.

A huge figure materialized before him. Godzilla opened his maw and breathed radioactive flame. A fireball exploded on Titanosaurus' chest, knocking him backwards.

Godzilla charged out of the dust cloud and saw Titanosaurus pushing himself to his feet. The scorched flesh on his chest had already started to heal. Even the left arm that had been reduced to a blackened stump had almost completely regenerated.

Godzilla whipped around his tail and struck Titanosaurus in the side. The monster stumbled backward, crushing more buildings. Godzilla rammed a shoulder into Titanosaurus and clubbed him with his right hand.

Titanosaurus knocked away Godzilla's fist and bit into his shoulder. Godzilla bellowed and slashed at his opponent's neck, digging out massive, bloody gashes. Titanosaurus' jaws remained clamped on Godzilla's shoulder. A wet, ripping sound filled the air. Titanosaurus lifted his head, with part of Godzilla's flesh in his mouth.

Pain drilled through his body. Godzilla cried out and pressed a hand on his torn shoulder. Blood poured down his torso.

Titanosaurus roared and hit Godzilla twice in the neck. He brought up his right hand and aimed all four kinetic-energy claws point blank at his foe's head.

Godzilla snapped his head down. His jaws clamped down on Titanosaurus' arm just as he fired. The claws streaked over Houston for miles and miles.

Godzilla bit down harder. Titanosaurus wailed and swatted him on the side of the head. Godzilla didn't let go. His teeth dug deeper into Titanosaurus' flesh. Then he pulled . . . pulled . . .

He ripped off Titanosaurus' arm.

**XXXXX**

Stop. Fire. Stop. Fire. McGlothen and the others continued to do that as they dashed through the jungle and toward the beach. The Venezuelans pursued them. There had to be hundreds of them. The strafing runs by the Shield International jets didn't seem to diminish their numbers much.

McGlothen ducked behind a tree. Dozens of strobes lit up the forest sixty yards away. He fired his M4 until his magazine ran dry and slapped in another one. His last.

He took off running, ducking under branches. Bullets cracked around him or smacked against trees. A figure nearby yelped and fell. It looked like one of the Trinidadians.

He did not get up.

_Get to the beach. Gotta get to the beach._

Then what? _Nelson, _the Trinidadian ship that was supposed to evacuate the ground forces, had been sunk by a submarine. _Eclipse_ had also informed them _van Speijk's_ 76mm gun had been destroyed by Venezuelan jets. So much for their fire support.

The Americans and Trinidadians broke through the jungle and hurried onto the beach. A few miles offshore he saw the _van Speijk, _flames glowing near its bow. Just beyond the surf sat the RHIBs used by the Trinidadian to come ashore.

They were almost there.

Gunfire erupted from the jungle. Four men twisted and fell.

"Down! Everyone down!"

McGlothen and the other soldiers dropped to their stomachs and returned fire. Nearby, the Shield International sniper Jaelin Hughes fired off one deliberate round after another, using a captured AK-103 since his Remington had run out of bullets.

"Spillman!" McGlothen hollered.

The radioman crawled over to him and gave him the handset.

"Alpha Six to _Eclipse."_

"_Eclipse. _Go."

"We've arrived at exfil point, taking heavy fire. Hostiles minimum seventy yards from our position. We need fire support, and we need it right the hell now!"

"Roger, Alpha Six. Hold your position. We'll arrange for fire support. Out."

McGlothen glared at the handset as gunfire erupted all around him. Two grenades went off near their lines. The treeline turned into a never-ending string of deadly orange flashes.

_Hold our position. Like it's going to be that easy._

"Sir!" Spillman patted McGlothen's back. "Look!"

He looked over his shoulder as best he could. Five contrails rose from _van Speijk _and rocketed toward land.

_No way. _Those had to be Harpoons. The Dutch were using their anti-ship missiles against the marines.

"Heads down!" he hollered. "Missiles inbound! Keep your heads down!"

American and Trinidadian troops repeated the order. McGlothen tensed as the missiles roared overhead. Seconds later the ground shook with hammer blows. He dared to lift his head out of the sand. Five huge fireballs rose above the trees. The enemy fire ceased.

"Go! Go! Go!" McGlothen sprang to his feet. "Get to the boats! Get to the boats!"

The soldiers pounded across the sand. They made it to the RHIBs without taking any fire. Given their greatly reduced numbers, they didn't have to worry about making multiple trips to evacuate everyone off the beach. Of the original 80-plus man force, less than 30 remained.

They piled in the RHIBs and headed out to sea. They'd gone about three miles when two patrol boats approached them. Austal-class. Trinidad and Tobago Coast Guard. Friendlies.

McGlothen's RHIB pulled up alongside one of the boats. The name on the side read _Scarlet Ibis._

"Glad to see you're in one piece, Lieutenant."

He looked up and saw a familiar face.

"I'm glad you blew up that control room, Sir" he said to Major Ruffin as the former US Marine helped him aboard. "So I guess Titanosaurus is finished."

"Not quite. That thing's still alive and kicking and wrecking the hell out of Houston. We just gotta hope Godzilla can put him down permanently."

McGlothen nodded. Even without being under alien control, Titanosaurus was still a threat to the world. Godzilla didn't fare so well in their last fight. Maybe this time –

"Missiles!" shouted the British guy, Sergeant Major Best.

McGlothen looked in the direction where Best pointed. Three glowing orange balls streaked over the water. The breath caught in his throat when he watched _van Speijk_ slowly turn into the missiles.

_What the hell's wrong with them?_ Did the Dutch have a death wish or something?

A low growling sound rippled through the air. A stream of tracers flew from _van Speijk's _Goalkeeper point defense gun_. _One by one the missiles exploded.

All the tension drained from his body. "Thank God," he muttered.

"Looks like we've got an enemy ship somewhere out there," said Best.

"Then why don't the Dutch launch some of their missiles and sink it?"

"They don't have any left," Ruffin told him. "They fired off the rest of their Harpoons covering your evac."

McGlothen suppressed a shiver. Without _van Speijk's_ deck gun and anti-ship missiles, their little flotilla had nothing that could knock out one of Venezuela's Lupo-class frigates

Again, anger took the place of fear. They couldn't destroy the Titanosaurus control and make it off the beach only to die on their way home. They just couldn't.

He prayed, harder than at any other time in his life, that someone came up with a plan to destroy the enemy ship.

**XXXXX**

"I must tell you, this is the craziest plan you have ever had."

Tombstone grinned at Eder's comment. "Sometimes the craziest plans are the best ones." _So long as you're alive to brag about it afterward._

But they really didn't have much choice. All of _van Speijk's_ anti-ship assets were used up or destroyed. The Trinidadians' Austal-class patrol boats only had light cannons and machine guns, and the Venezuelan frigate could sink them long before they got within range to use those weapons.

Then again, all he and Cabaye had were Sidewinder missiles and what few rounds remained in their guns after all the strafing runs. Not the best weapons for taking out a ship, but as Chief Briggs had said back on Trinidad, they had to use whatever they had on hand.

"Begin attack run," Tombstone ordered.

"Beginning attack run," Cabaye replied.

Tombstone put his Phantom into a dive, with Cabaye's Crusader off his right wing. Farmer's Phantom flew a couple miles behind them, jamming the Venezuelan frigate.

Three knife-shaped ships plowed through the waves below them, two small ones flanking a larger vessel. Two POVZEE-class patrol boats and the frigate, identified as _Almirante Brion._ Those ships had fallen for the diversionary raid on Caracas. That is, until someone apparently got wise to it and ordered them back here.

Tombstone pointed the Phantom's nose at the bigger of the ships. Against the backdrop of the ocean, the residual heat of the launchers that fired the anti-ship missiles stood out like a spotlight. He hoped the Venezuelans hadn't burned through the jamming yet. He could do without SAMs.

A flurry of tracers rose from all three ships.

_Damn. I forgot about their Triple A._

The anti-aircraft fire zipped around them. The Phantom bucked a couple of times. Sweat suddenly drenched Tombstone. Still he maintained his dive.

A bright flash went off to his left. Chills went through him as Cabaye's Crusader spun through the air in flames. He saw no parachute.

Tombstone clenched his teeth. He couldn't deal with the French pilot's death now. All his focus had to be on the _Brion._

Another shudder went through the Phantom.

_Closer . . . Closer . . . Now!_

He ripple-fired three Sidewinders and banked away. The anti-aircraft fire followed him. A couple of rounds punched through the jet's rear, but he kept flying, and kept looking back.

A small fireball rose from _Brion._ Seconds later more fire and sparks erupted, like a lethal fireworks show.

"YEEEEEE-HAW!" Tombstone twisted his Phantom in a victory roll and continued north as _Almirante Brion's _anti-ship missiles cooked off.

"Bronco One to _Eclipse."_

"_Eclipse. _Go."

"Enemy frigate neutralized. I believe it is time to head back to the ranch."

**XXXXX**

Titanosaurus screeched and stomped around the remains of downtown. Godzilla loosened his jaws and let the arm fall from his mouth.

Titanosaurus continued to jump and stomp and wail. A full minute passed before he started to settle down as the nanobots worked to regrow the missing arm.

Godzilla reached out, grabbed Titanosaurus' head, and twisted it toward him. He then took hold of his foe's jaws and pulled them wide open. Titanosaurus struggled to break Godzilla's grasp. It proved futile.

The spines on Godzilla's back glowed blue. He opened his mouth. A stream of blue flame shot out. It went down Titanosaurus' throat, incinerating muscle tissue, organs and nanobots. The monster trembled as the atomic fire in him built up and built up until . . .

The explosion leveled everything within a half-mile radius. The blast flung Godzilla a mile through the air before he crashed onto a residential neighborhood.

It took a couple of minutes for him to recover. He got to his feet, shook his head and looked around.

Patches of blood and charred pieces of flesh were all that remained of Titanosaurus. As for the nanobots, without electrical impulses from the monster's brain to use as their power source, they soon ceased to function.

Godzilla straightened, sensing the special vibrations in the Earth, the ones that alerted him to grave threats and unimaginable evil.

They had calmed now. Earth was safe.

Godzilla let out a long, triumphant roar. He turned and lumbered east, to Galveston Bay, then to the Gulf of Mexico. His task was done. It was time to rest.

Until the next threat surfaced.

**XXXXX**

"You're sure about that?" Ruffin said into the satellite phone from the crowded deck of _Scarlet Ibis._

"The Texas National Guard sent one of their WMD units into downtown Houston. All they could find were some burnt chunks of meat. Godzilla blew the hell out of Titanosaurus. It's dead, all the Simbaaku are dead. It's over, John. We did it."

"Yeah. We did it, Chief."

He lowered the phone and looked around at the mix of US paratroopers, Trinidadian soldiers and sailors and Shield International personnel.

"We did it!" Ruffin raised his arms over his head.

Everyone turned to him.

"That was Chief Briggs. Godzilla killed Titanosaurus. Blew his ass to pieces. We won!"

Cheers and applause broke out. The men high-fived and embraced one another. Just a few days ago, Ruffin had been standing in the ruins of Port of Spain, hearing how the President of the United States had surrendered to the Simbaaku.

But their desperate, near-suicidal plan had worked. It had been costly. My God, it had been costly. But because of the sacrifice of well over a hundred men, all of humanity had been saved from extinction.

John Ruffin didn't even try to stop the tears that poured from his eyes.

_**NEXT: THE CONCLUSION**_


	17. Chapter 17

_OKLAHOMA CITY, THREE WEEKS LATER_

* * *

><p>"And now for the finishing touch." Ruffin placed the framed photo on the wall and stood back. A smile traced his lips as he gazed at the image of him and Miranda, taken in the terminal of Piarco International Airport right before they left Trinidad and Tobago.<p>

"We need a better picture of us." Miranda sauntered across the carpeted floor of her new apartment and pressed up against his side. "An airport terminal isn't the most romantic place in the world."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her on the head. "I think we'll have plenty of opportunities to take better pictures, especially since you've seen the light."

She looked up at him with a wry grin. "'Seen the light.' How about I wanted to get as far away from the shitstorm in Washington as possible?"

Ruffin nodded. "Shitstorm" might be an understatement for what was happening in DC. Less than a day after the deaths of Titanosaurus and the Simbaaku, President Atherton resigned under mounting pressure from politicians and the public. Not that Atherton's problem ended there. Many in Congress demanded criminal charges be brought against him, everything from dereliction of duty to treason. The Justice Department was still sorting through all the legalities of that.

The Vice President, Lucas Eagan, had now assumed the presidency. Ruffin didn't think much of that guy, either, but at least he wasn't a cowardly pantywaste like Atherton. Still, a number of people didn't want Eagan, or anyone else connected with the Atherton administration, in the White House. A movement had begun for an unprecedented recall election. Ruffin didn't think the Constitution covered that.

Still, the political situation in the US was better than the one in Venezuela. With General Moscoso dead, at least a dozen different political factions attempted to fill the power vacuum. No one knew how long it would take for that whole mess to be resolved.

At least the cessation movement had died out. Sure a few diehards remained, mainly in Alaska and Texas, but with the Simbaaku threat gone and Atherton out of office, the states that had seceded quickly voted to rejoin the USA.

But the best thing to come out of the mess in Washington was Miranda quitting the CIA and coming to work for Shield International. When the world learned about the Battle of Puerto Cabello, the company had been hailed as not only national, but global heroes. Them, the Trinidad and Tobago Defense Forces, McGlothen's paratroopers and the crew of the _van Speijk. _As a result, President Eagan had told the Justice Department to end any investigation of Shield International ordered by his predecessor. In addition, hundreds of men and women had come to SI's corporate headquarters in Oklahoma City wanting a job with them. After all the casualties they suffered in Trinidad and Venezuela, they needed a lot of new blood.

"You probably need one more thing in here," Ruffin said.

"What's that?"

"Something with Godzilla on it. A poster or a figurine or a painting."

Miranda gave him a questioning look. "I don't know if a picture of a big mutant dinosaur would go with the décor."

"Who cares if it does? We need to honor the big guy. He probably played the biggest role in saving the world, even if he didn't know it."

Miranda shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he did, in a way. Godzilla does seem to have a habit of showing up when the world faces some major threat."

"If that's true, let's hope we don't see him for a long time. Or at least for the next couple of weeks."

"Why the next couple of weeks?"

Ruffin grinned and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out two airline tickets. "Because two days from now, we're off to Hawaii, where we have a beach house on Diamond Head reserved for two weeks."

Surprise and joy lit up Miranda's face. "Oh my God, are you kidding me? But wait. I just got hired. Will Chief Briggs have a problem with me suddenly going on vacation?"

"Lucky for you I'm in good with the boss. I already had a few weeks of vacation time accrued, and after everything we went through, I think we earned some down time."

Miranda said nothing. She just smiled wide, threw her arms around Ruffin and kissed him. He scooped her up in his arms, causing her to squeal in delight.

"John, what are you doing?"

"I'm taking you to the bedroom. I want to get an early start on our two weeks of debauchery."

Miranda laughed as he carried her to the bed and laid her on it.

"I love you," she said.

Ruffin smiled as he stared at her alluring face. "I love you, too."

He leaned down and kissed her.

_**THE END**_

* * *

><p><em><em>**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Thank you for reading my Godzilla fanfic. If you want more action-packed adventure, check out my original novel DARK WINGS and follow Delta Force Major Jim Rhyne as he battles otherworldly beings that have invaded Earth. DARK WINGS is available in paperback from Amazon, or as en e-book from Smashwords-dot-com._


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